


Bases

by Pixiestick_cc



Series: If You're Lonely Press Play Universe [2]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Long-Term Relationship(s), Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiestick_cc/pseuds/Pixiestick_cc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories that take Beatrice and Wirt though the different stages of their unconventional dating relationship (IYLPP Universe).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bases

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the iylpp universe and will have chapters that skip forward to different time periods post that fic. As these characters age, some more mature themes are introduced, but nothing above the T rating.

How did one go to second base or third base or _any_ of the bases if they didn’t even know what those bases were? Of course, first base was easy. Wirt figured out pretty quickly that kissing was the next step of intimacy following hand holding. Which wasn’t even a base really. You could hold hands with your friends and family. But if you kissed someone, then that meant something.

Wirt had already reached the kissing base with Beatrice many times. They’d kissed in all the ways you possibly could … from the neck up anyway. Open mouthed kisses that left the area around their lips wet afterwards. Little soft kisses that were for greetings, goodbyes, and whenever there wasn’t enough privacy. Neck kisses that left them both with hickeys at one point or another.

After noticing those hickeys, Sara had introduced him and Beatrice to concealer. Which meant he could finally stop wearing his collar up like he thought he was James Dean or something. Wirt was definitley _not_ James Dean. He didn’t ask her how she knew makeup was the quick fix to hide a neck bruise, but he also wasn’t an idiot. Sara had dated before him and she knew a lot more than he did. In fact, it was his ex who had prompted his current tailspin into anxious thoughts about bases.

They had been walking to class together when she casually asked, “So, I’m not trying to pry … well, actually I’m being very nosey when I ask this, but have you and Beatrice reached second base yet? I figure with all those hickeys you two must have at least … _you know_.”

Wirt actually didn’t know … about bases anyway. As far as he knew bases were for baseball, not anything to do with Beatrice. “Why?” he skeptically asked.

“I just wanted to know if I had to give you _the talk_ … about stuff that happens after kissing and all the complications that go along with it,” Sara explained.

She was grinning slyly at him, but Wirt looked away and down at the book he was holding. “N-no you don’t need to give me any talk. I’m fine.”

“Wirt! Don’t be so serious,” Sara said in response to his morose tone. “You’re acting like I’m talking about death or something.”

“Yeah, heh. Well, you know me,” Wirt tried to laugh it off, although his voice came out decidedly unamused. He was still staring at the cover of his English book, but was forced to glance up again when his shoulder knocked into a passing student who told him to look where he was going.

“Sorry,” Sara said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you know, Beatrice is one of my best friends, so I figured you wouldn’t mind. I was just … well … if you ever needed advice, that was my roundabout way of saying I’m here if you needed to ask anything other than what concealer to use.”

“Did Beatrice put you up to this?” Wirt hoped not. He didn’t want his girlfriend having to go through someone else to get him to do things, like move on to other bases. He thought they communicated well, especially since their relationship had started out with only words on tapes and continued to be enabled that way during the week. Words were what connected them and Wirt was actually pretty happy with the way they could tell each other anything. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe there were some areas of conversation too uncomfortable for Beatrice to approach without the help of a friend.

“No, Wirt. Beatrice hasn’t told me to tell you anything,” Sara replied in almost an exasperated way and then squeezed his shoulder. “I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

“Oh, okay,” he mumbled, shrugging off Sara’s hand and moving past her to enter the classroom. Probably sensing the tension between them, she didn’t sit near him, but instead moved into a desk beside her friend Colleen. Wirt stared at Colleen as she pushed her glasses up her nose and greeted Sara. She was part of their group and had recently surprised everyone in their circle of friends when she started dating Jason Funderberker. Well, everyone except Sara, who confided she had sensed something ever since their last Halloween night in the cemetery.

Wirt’s eyes narrowed. Jason Funderberker probably knew all about bases. It didn't matter that him and Colleen had only been together for a few weeks, Wirt just knew they were already at third or fourth or even fifth base … was there a fifth? He wasn’t sure. But what he did know was that his nearly eight month long relationship with Beatrice had stalled. Now Wirt wondered if this was a problem. Was Beatrice frustrated, because he wasn’t able to move past kissing?

Lost in a sea of anxious imagined scenarios where Beatrice had complained to Sara about her loser boyfriend, Wirt forgot to look away from Colleen, which led to the awkward situation of her eyes flashing in his direction. She sent him an unsure wave, and Wirt felt his face flush. After quickly waving back, he let out a soft groan and turned to stare at the dandruff flakes dotting the brown hair of the person sitting in front of him.

Wirt knew he couldn’t just ignore Sara and hope it would all work itself out. His dating life was complicated enough. He had no control over so many aspects of it and the separate worlds issue between him and Beatrice was always hanging heavily over their heads like a guillotine’s blade. Wirt opened his binder and jotted down the guillotine line on a scrap piece of paper. He'd use it later in some dreary poem. And then a few lines down he wrote, step one. After chewing on his pencil eraser for a few seconds he added: buy concert tickets for parents. Wirt could fix this base problem with Beatrice if he planned it perfectly. Sure, there were so many ways to screw it up. If he did something wrong- which with him there was always a high probability of happening- then it might damage what he had with her. But he still had to try, because if Beatrice wanted to move past that first base then he would make an attempt. For her he would do just almost about anything. And really, when Wirt thought about it long enough, was being more intimate with his girlfriend such an awful outcome?


	2. Alone Time: Part 1

Inside the privacy of her bedroom, Beatrice tossed a few leggings into the carpet bag at her feet, then quickly slipped on a pair under her dress. Now that she knew the feeling of wearing something as unrestrained as leggings, it was such a chore to keep up appearances and stay in the attire her world deemed proper. Whenever visiting Wirt, Beatrice always left the house wearing a dress, but removed it as soon as there wasn’t a chance of being caught. A few times she had received curious glances from onlookers, but for the most part, the path to the garden wall remained empty, since the wall itself wasn’t a destination for most. For Beatrice though, it was her link to Wirt and if she could climb the wall into his world without the constraints of a dress then she would. Admittedly, the more she visited Wirt’s side the more Beatrice found it appealing and the less she liked her own with its ridged rules for women. It was a terrible thought, but nonetheless true. If it wasn’t for her family, she would choose his world every time.

After placing a few more items inside the bag, Beatrice reached up and removed the pins from her hair, letting the red shower over her shoulders. She disliked wearing her hair down, but Wirt preferred it that way and so she made the effort for him. And truth be told it wasn’t that big of a sacrifice. The feel of him casually playing with her curls as they watched movies together was something she rather enjoyed. He had also become considerably better at not catching on tangles. Running her fingers through the strands a few times, Beatrice worked those tangles out and then shrugged at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. “Eh, good enough,” she commented, before reaching down to grasp the handle of her carpet bag, but her hand stalled when she caught sight of the tape player sitting atop her bed. That would have to be hidden away just in case any sneaky siblings decided to ransack her room while she was over the wall.

Wirt's poems and endearments were for her ears only and she shuddered at the thought of anyone else listening to the personal details of their courtship. There was no doubt in Beatrice's mind that her brothers would tease her mercilessly if they heard any of it. But more worrisome was the chance her mother would learn of certain activities Beatrice engaged in with Wirt. Things that the older and more reserved woman would consider inappropriate. At the thought of those _things,_ she pulled back her hair to see the darkened area just above her collarbone. The bruise was slowly fading, but would need a touch of concealer before she left.

On his last tape, Wirt had apologized for the mark his mouth had left on her skin, but also mentioned something else that made her wonder. It was the reason the tape player was out now. Before beginning to pack for her weekend away, Beatrice had been listening to his voice, and now that she was reminded of it, she flopped herself back onto the bed for one last listen. Alternating between the rewind and fast forward buttons, she searched through the tape, finally finding the part she wanted to hear after a few seconds.

“So, um … I have something to uh- that is, it’s important for me to ask you ... it’s not exactly, well, Sara said that, uh, that,” he paused and sighed. “Just listen to me. I sound like I don’t know how to speak. Heh. I’d rewind this and record over, but what’s the point? You know this is how I am when I get nervous. So … why am I nervous? I guess you’ll find out on Friday. I have something important to discuss with you and well, anyway …”

His voice trailed into silence as the tape transitioned from words to the soft strings of an acoustic guitar. Hitting the stop button, Beatrice absently twisted a lock of her hair as she contemplated what Wirt had said. What was so important to make him nervous? Since it was Wirt, she knew he could occasionally become nervous over the most mundane things. But during the course of their relationship, he had been able to manage his anxious tendencies around her. It was something Beatrice secretly missed. Her sensitive poet could become extremely adorable when he was tripping over his words. But it was for the better. Wirt being able to control his emotions around her meant they had reached a level of intimacy where fear was no longer an issue between them. So, whatever he was nervous about now had to be big.

At first her mind had taken her to the idea of a marriage proposal. It was how she'd been conditioned to think since coming of age, but of course, in Wirt’s world, the rules of courtship were different. There was no recommended timeline that you had to marry by or the label of spinster would haunt you like it was for women in her world. If she were from his side, Beatrice would have the very real option of growing older without marriage even being a concern. As for Wirt, he was still in school, and a month away from turning seventeen. For him seventeen was not considered a normal age for marriage. So no, with a wave a relief washing over her, that idea had been thrown out moments after entering her head. As much as she loved Wirt, being his wife wasn’t a commitment she was willing to make at only seventeen and it also came with decisions she wasn’t ready to make, like where they would live. Her side or his?

So what then? Why was he worried? And why had he started off his verbal stumble by mentioning Sara? What did she have to do with this? It was all a big mystery to Beatrice and one she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to. This big thing could very well be a bad thing. Beatrice sighed deeply as she shoved the player under her bed, and then for good measure, tossed a blanket over it. She made sure to do a quick run through of her room in case there were any other items scattered around that could be used as blackmail and once satisfied that everything was in order, she quickly dabbed a bit of concealer over her love bite, before exiting the room with her carpet bag in tow.

Downstairs, Beatrice found her mother and father to let them know she was leaving. It was common for the older woman to take her daughter aside before every visit and remind her that she was to stay at Sara’s. Beatrice always did, except for that first time when her body was injured, but she humored her mother anyway. Considering she was allowed to leave into another world where there was the chance of becoming trapped just like her mother had, Beatrice never complained. Before leaving each time, she made sure to be on good terms with everyone. If there was some unresolved issue, it was always fixed, even if it meant her having to eat crow. That was always very difficult to do, especially in the face of Andrew, the brother she fought with most. Yet, she made the effort despite it being such an exhausting experience. Because of Wirt, Beatrice had managed to overcome her extreme pride in the face of annoying little brothers.

But, there was one brother who she rarely had to make amends with before leaving, because their fights were typically just teasing in disguise. This time, Beatrice kneeled down to the eight year old’s height and wrapped her arms around around him. “Bring me back another chocolate bar, okay?” Henry whispered into her ear.

“As long as you don’t tell the others. I’d hate to have to bring back so many. They would all start begging me each time like you do,” Beatrice answered.

“Maybe you could use it to get them to do things for you,” Henry suggested.

“And what will _you_ do for me?” Beatrice asked, pulling away and raising an eyebrow.

Henry scoffed. “I don’t need to do anything. You’ll get it for me, because I’m the best brother.”

Beatrice laughed cynically. “Okay, I guess no chocolate bar.”

“No wait! I know! I’ll guard your room for you!” Henry whined with worry over the chance of losing his treat, and it caused Beatrice to laugh again.

“Okay, fair enough,” she agreed and patted her little brother’s head. Then with one last wave to everyone else, she departed.

By the time she reached the wall, her dress had already been shed and Beatrice was wearing the shirt Wirt had bought her at their very first concert together, along with a pair of Sara’s leggings that her mother had forbidden long ago. Climbing the wall with a carpet bag was never easy, but she managed somehow and before long, Beatrice was at the top, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. It was something she always did before chancing a look over the other side. Each time she climbed, her fear was real that Wirt’s world wouldn’t be there and the landscape would resemble the endless fields of her side. This time was no different and when her lids finally separated, Beatrice exhaled loudly at seeing her boyfriend waiting below in the cemetery. “Hey!” she shouted and tossed the bag down to him. He caught it, and like every time, stumbled a bit afterward.

"Ready to go?” Wirt asked when she was finally on solid ground again.

“Where to? Family or friends?” Usually their Friday nights on his side were spent with either his family or out with Sara and her friends. They were Wirt’s friends too, but he never admitted to that. He only ever really spoke to her or Sara when the group was all together. Although sometimes, Wirt muttered annoyances about Jason Funderberker under his breath, a habit that had rubbed off on Beatrice. Together they could spend a whole evening groaning about all the irritating things their _friend_ did.

“Uh, something different actually,” he answered, and she detected a hint of that nervousness he had exhibited on the tape.

“Different?” Beatrice could feel her own nervousness rising. Was he going to jump headlong into this big thing?

Wirt rubbed the back of his neck and sent her an uneasy grin. “Yeah, uh, my parents are going out tonight and Sara is babysitting Greg, so um … the house will be ours for a few hours.”

Beatrice was dubious. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

Despite his anxious demeanor, Wirt laughed. “Since when do _you_ care about rules?”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh, since I started dating. I like that I’m on good terms with my boyfriend’s parents and I wouldn’t want to mess anything up, because you know, I really like this guy.”

“Calm down. It’s not like I just threw this together. I have a plan,” Wirt reassured, reaching out to lace his fingers with hers. “Now come on,” he continued. “I don’t want to waste the time I tried so hard to get for us.”

“What exactly did you do to secure this time for us to have the house to ourselves?” Beatrice inquired.

“Spent a ridiculous amount of money buying last minute concert tickets for my mom and Ben, so much that they couldn’t refuse without looking like jerks. They won’t be getting back till way past midnight.”

“Was that money from your car fund?” It was the only large sum of money Wirt could pull from and when he didn’t answer, Beatrice chuckled. “Guess this means you’ll be driving me in your mom’s van tonight and for the rest of the foreseeable future,” she teased with a lighthearted grumble.

Wirt sighed as they began walking to the parking lot. “Look, I promise by the start of senior year I’ll have my own car. Just another year. It’s not that long.”

Beatrice could sense the stress her joke about the van had caused and pulled back on that side of her personality. Wirt was keyed up for some reason and she could only assume it had to do with this being alone in the house plan. Whatever that was. “Look Wirt, I don’t care about the van. You’re the one that seems so embarrassed by it, but to me none of that little stuff matters as long as I’m able to be with you. I swear every time I come over that wall, I get a little emotional as I reach the top. I worry that it might not work. So, when it does, I don’t care about anything else. I’m happy just being with you.”

Her confession didn’t provoke the reaction in Wirt she had hoped for. He still looked dismayed. “Are you, Beatrice? Are you really happy just being with me as is?”

“What are you implying?” she replied, not liking his question or the tone he had asked it in.

Wirt shook his head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep these last two nights. I didn’t mean anything by that. Let’s just get back to my place and I’ll try to make it up to you.”

He squeezed her hand and Beatrice decided to let the subject drop, because she knew whatever was bothering Wirt wouldn’t be kept secret for long. She had a suspicion that as soon as they reached the empty house, his nervousness on the tape and now edginess in person, would be explained. Beatrice just hoped it was an explanation she would like.


	3. Alone Time: Part 2

Wirt’s plan started to fracture before he even had a chance to implement it and ironically it was his over planning that had caused the unfortunate turn of events. He had spent so much time orchestrating his night with Beatrice, that when the evening was finally in front of him, the insomnia his obsessing had caused, gave him a short temper. Him being on edge wasn’t helpful in setting the mood, and after his rude remark to her, Wirt wondered if he should just throw out everything he’d put together. He could drive Beatrice to the movies instead and then pick up Greg on the way back. Sex wasn’t even a subject that had to be brought up tonight … or ever.

But as Wirt thought of all the money and time that would be wasted if he just gave up, it made him feel like a coward. He didn’t want to be that person, that someone who didn’t deserve Beatrice, because he was too afraid to move their relationship forward. Wirt had to at least try to give her what he thought she wanted from him and a few minutes into their short drive to his house, he turned to look at his girlfriend. She was staring out the passenger side window, being abnormally quiet. Wirt had been too frustrated with himself at first to try and work the situation out, but as he gazed briefly at her profile, the slightly lowered window causing wind to catch her hair and blow it in his direction, Wirt swallowed his embarrassment for screwing up the start of their night. Turning forward again, he kept one hand on the steering wheel while using the other to connect his phone to the van’s stereo. Then going into his music app, Wirt chose a song he knew Beatrice would recognize. Sure enough, when it began playing, she snorted. “Trying to get me to forget your grumpy mood by playing our song? What an underhanded move.”

“Did it work?” Wirt asked, a crooked grin forming on his face as he turned to glance in her direction again. Beatrice didn’t give him an outright answer, but her smile told him he was in the clear.

The song wasn’t actually _their_ song per say, but more of a joke between them. Once while drunk, thanks to Sara and some stolen whiskey from her father, Beatrice had mentioned an old girl-power anthem as being _their_ song. Ever since, it had become an inside joke, which by extension had essentially turned it into their song. Wirt liked that better than having to pick an actual love song to represent how he felt about Beatrice. There were just too many for him to choose only one. But having their song contain lyrics that had nothing to do with romantic love, somehow put him at ease. Plus the joke always made Beatrice happy. In fact, by the time they reached Wirt’s house, she was singing along with the girl group, the awkwardness from the start of their evening completely forgotten. Wirt just hoped what he had to say and do wouldn’t produce any more awkwardness for them later.

When the engine was cut and the music stopped, Wirt expected Beatrice’s off-key interpretation of their song to end too, but when she just kept at it, he laughed, which caused Beatrice to make her voice obnoxiously louder. “Come on, you can serenade me inside,” Wirt said, increasing his volume to rise above hers.

Beatrice’s lips turned downward into a pout that was more facetious than real and then sighed, “Fine. I suppose we should get this _alone in the house_ evening started anyway.”

Her words were a tease, but Wirt had to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, before he could reply. “Yeah, heh, let’s go.”

They got out of the van and walked towards the entrance. With Wirt placing his hand against the small of Beatrice’s back, he unlocked the front door and led her inside, noting that the house was strangely silent for it being six in the evening. Usually by then, his mom could be heard in the kitchen making dinner, while his stepdad had one sided arguments with pundits on cable news shows. Greg on the other hand would have probably been attempting to incorporate Wirt in some scheme sprung from his overactive imagination. Now though, his home was completely empty except for Beatrice and him.

“Hellooooo, anyone home? It’s just me and Wirt here. Alone! Going to do _alone_ things together, but I don’t know why, because he won’t tell me,” Beatrice yelled into the empty house as a joke and Wirt smiled, but it wasn’t without effort. His nervousness had returned and to distract himself, he offered to order them pizza.

They filled their time waiting for the food to arrive by playing video games. Occasionally, Beatrice would attempt to get him to tell her why it was so important for them to be alone if all they were going to do was what they normally did, but Wirt wouldn’t answer. And the more the evening progressed, the less he felt like she would get that answer. His stomach was in knots and it wasn’t from the pizza they’d eaten.

Finally when it was nearing nine, Beatrice yawned and Wirt took it as an indication that things were going badly. She was bored with video games and probably him too. “Hey, uh, do you want to go up to my room?” he managed to force out, even though his anxiety told him to just keep quiet.

Beatrice placed her controller down and raised an eyebrow. “Does this have anything to do with the whole _us being alone_? Is the answer in your room?”

“Maybe,” Wirt said, and Beatrice sighed.

“Why are you being so ambiguous?” she grumbled.

Wirt shrugged, not trusting himself to speak, and rose to offer his hand. She took it and together they walked to his bedroom. Beatrice’s mood only soured when they entered and she saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Wirt, I’ve seen your room before,” she complained.

“But have you seen my bed?” he asked, and instantly wanted to take it back. It sounded so cheesy.

“Yes, I’ve seen your bed and I’ve even seen your dumb sheets with the cowboys on it that your mother refuses to get rid of,” she groused, not catching on to his meager attempt at insinuation.

Ignoring Beatrice’s grumblings Wirt pulled on her hand, bringing them over to the bed. He sat first and patted the area next to him. She seemed suspicious, but nonetheless complied and huffed, “What?” when he tried to give her a meaningful look.

Wirt didn’t reply. He couldn’t. His unease was too much for him to find his voice. Instead he leaned over Beatrice, so that she was compelled to lay down against the mattress and then placing his hands on either side of her head, Wirt slowly straddled her. She gave him a curious look in response to his body position, but didn’t protest and Wirt took her silence as a good sign. Then lowering his upper half, so that their faces were inches apart, he said, “I love you. You, uh, know that, right?” They had been this close before, but never on his bed. Their first few kisses had taken place in Sara’s guest bedroom, but since then they mostly used the van, sitting in the confines of a single seat that made it awkward to move.

“That’s a dumb question. I’ve known that about you for a long time, so why would you ask?” Beatrice replied, conveying annoyance. But Wirt was able to see through the game she was playing. Over the eight months they had been dating, he had memorized all her mannerisms, including her habit of wanting him to think she was always in control, especially when she was nervous. Which right now, Beatrice was.

“But maybe there are things you don’t know,” Wirt replied suggestively, but he came across sounding like a nerd who couldn’t be sexy to save his life.

“Why did you just lower your voice and what does that even mean? You’re being so strange,” Beatrice said, her eyes narrowing in skepticism.

She was right. All his attempts at seduction had fallen flat, and the only way he could fix the rapidly deteriorating situation was to drop the act. He had to do what he did best with Beatrice without any pretense being involved, and before she could say another word, Wirt answered her frustration by pressing his lips against hers. Luckily, Beatrice’s annoyance subsided and Wirt opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. He built upon the momentum, no longer worried that he’d been too nervous to actually tell her beforehand what he planned to do. It didn’t have to be talked about anyway. Being physical could just be a reaction to a moment. And he was going to make their moment together count.

As their kiss continued, positions were rearranged and Beatrice shoved her hands into his hair, pulling Wirt in tighter against her mouth. The warmth she emanated spread throughout his body and when Beatrice moaned, her breath came out hot. For Wirt it felt like they were breathing each other; becoming one person.

_One person_

Pulling his mind away from how good she made him feel, and focusing instead on what he had to do, Wirt hurried to register where his hands were. He found his left arm was wrapped around her neck, trapping that hand under her body, while the other rested on Beatrice's shoulder. Wirt thought that one could easily be moved downward to cup her breast and gradually he eased his hand closer to her chest, but stalled against her collarbone. Panic was trying to take over his brain, whispering abandon ship. But he fought back, not wanting to lose himself to the voice of dissent. He was finally able to push that worry aside by focusing on the feel of Beatrice’s body crushed against his. Then he reminded himself of what Sara said. Together, those two things brought Wirt’s hand in contact with her breast, but he only took a moment to experience the feel of it before pulling his hand away, while muttering, “I can’t do this.” Then he broke their kiss and rolled over, his back facing Beatrice. They both were breathing heavily, but as desire fell away shame took over, and Wirt began to shake. Noticing this, Beatrice responded by pressing up against his back and asking, “What’s wrong?”

She nuzzled her nose against the nape of this neck, but Wirt pushed away and left the bed to walk across the room. Without thinking, he kicked his tower of cassette tapes in anger and they scattered across the floor. “I’m such a loser,” he groaned, placing his head in his hands and dragging his fingers down over his face.

“What?” Beatrice asked, causing Wirt to turn back around. She was perched on the edge of the bed, looking disheveled and confused. “Why did you get up to kick your tapes?” Wirt couldn’t think of how to explain himself without falling into a pit of humiliation and only managed to give her a small shrug. Beatrice didn’t look happy with his less than revealing explanation and he couldn’t blame her. He’d done an A+ job of messing everything up. “I don’t get it, Wirt,” she finally said. “You’ve been weird all night, wanting us to have this time alone and then refusing to tell me why. You kiss me, but end it suddenly for no reason. Now you're over there destroying your things. Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Wirt was quick to reply. “It’s me. It’s all me.”

“What’s all you?” She pulled her bottom lip in and chewed it nervously for a few seconds. “Wirt, are you sick? Are you … dying?”

It was such an unexpected question that despite the situation, he laughed, and Beatrice’s expression darkened at his response to something she had obviously been very serious about. “Dying? No … well, maybe from embarrassment."

“Okay, then what am I supposed to think?” Beatrice asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. “You’re being moody and acting like you have a big secret. In movies that usually means the character knows they're dying, but doesn’t want to burden their loved ones. They keep it a secret, but it becomes too much and eventually they crack. I thought you were cracking. Besides, you weren’t exactly giving me any answers and it was the best I could come up with.”

“Beatrice, this isn’t the movies. I know you're new to them, but those hardly ever represent reality,” Wirt sighed, coming to sit down next to her. “And if we were in one, we’d be in some barely watchable teen comedy with me being the nerd who can't get laid.”

“Get laid?” Beatrice’s eyebrows furrowed.

“It means …” Wirt paused and pulled in a deep breath, “sex.”

His girlfriend let out a noise that was a mixture of laughter and scoffing, which caused Wirt’s cheeks to glow red. “Are _you_ trying to _get laid_?” she mocked, humor lighting up her face.

Wirt looked ashamed and every part of his body told him to bolt, that it wasn’t worth the embarrassment. But in his heart, he knew that was a lie. Beatrice trumped most everything for him, and that included escaping mortification. Saving face now wasn’t worth the damage it might cause to their relationship in the long run. He needed to be open with her and stop hiding what he knew. “Look,” Wirt mumbled, staying put, but not looking at her. “Sara told me what you said, that you weren’t exactly happy with our uh … in not so many words she implied that you wanted me to … to move our relationship to the next step.”

“And sex is the next step?” Beatrice sounded stunned.

“No, n-no, it doesn’t have to be sex,” he replied, looking back up. “But, there are steps, or bases, like me touching,” Wirt made a movement with his hands to indicate her breasts, “ _them_.”

“ _Them_? Can’t you even say the word?”

Wirt rolled his eyes. “Your breasts.”

Beatrice giggled and leaned in to kiss him. Wirt felt relieved that she was amused rather than angry and he went to caress the side of her face, but she surprised him by moving that hand away. “W-what are you doing?” Wirt asked, pulling back from her mouth, and then he gaped when she made him grasp her left breast. “Beatrice!” he protested.

The grin on her face was wide and mischievous. “I thought this is what you wanted. I’m just helping you out.”

“Not like this. It has to be natural. Like when we we’re kissing. This is just … weird.” Wirt couldn’t look her in the eyes and tried to tug his hand away, but Beatrice wouldn’t let it budge.

“It’s only weird, because you’re making it weird. Stop overthinking things,” she criticized.

“I’m not,” Wirt lied.

Beatrice snorted. “Um, I’m pretty sure everything that has happened tonight is because you were overthinking whatever Sara told you. Which by the way, I never said anything to her about taking our relationship to the next step.”

Wirt’s head jerked up. “Then why did she say what she did?”

“Sara probably told you that to get some information out of you,” Beatrice answered.

“What do you mean?”

She sent him a sympathetic smile and replied, “Apparently friends are supposed to gossip with each other about their boyfriends. That's what Sara says. Only, I don’t like to do that. I tell her the boring details, like how your eyes are my favorite feature. But the other stuff- the personal things like poetry or kissing … that should be between just us.” Beatrice moved Wirt’s hand away from her chest and entwined her fingers with his. “Whatever Sara made you think, it isn’t true. I am very happy with our relationship. Yeah, there are a few things I wish were different, like my inability to see you for more than two days at a time, but bases or whatever they’re called, I don’t need that, and I’m definitely not ready for sex. Can we just keep at the pace we’ve been going? If anything is meant to happen, it will, but we can’t force it. We just have to be honest with each other about what we’re comfortable with.”

As she spoke, Wirt felt all his anxiety wash away, and chagrin take its place. When had Beatrice become the voice of reason in their relationship? “Well, we can cross off breast groping from the list of things _you’re_ comfortable with,” Wirt joked, eliciting a snicker from Beatrice.

“Not to give you a big ego or anything, but most of the time when we’re kissing, I’m pretty content. Although, if you want to add groping to the mix then it’s only fair that I return the favor.” Beatrice was grinning again and Wirt’s heart began to drum faster. But when her hand reached out only to squeeze a portion of his chest, he smiled.

“Very funny,” Wirt said flatly.

“I thought so,” Beatrice replied, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at her lips.

“So … what now?” he asked, after a few seconds of quiet passed between them.

Beatrice kicked her leg against Wirt’s playfully. “We could, you know, pick up where we left off, but this time not have the pressure to do things that we’re not comfortable with,” she suggested and then maneuvered her body, so that she sat facing him on his lap.

“Um, o-okay,” Wirt said, as she pushed him backward on the bed, her body now in the position his was earlier.

Because Wirt was now aware that Beatrice wasn’t afraid of his hands discovering new places on her, he set himself down a path of letting his instincts dictate how he responded to her. Wirt found that when his anxiety wasn’t telling him what to do, his emotions had more room to breathe freely and when he wanted to grasp her breasts, he didn’t hesitate. He also let his hands trail down her back and settle on the curve of her bottom, which was something Wirt had dreamed about doing since they began dating. Throughout the rest of their evening, they both found new places to caress on the other and before they were forced to stop by a clock that told them his parents would soon be home, Wirt and Beatrice took their physical relationship to all the places you could while still fully clothed. It wasn’t exactly the whole spectrum of second base, but it didn’t matter. There were no rules to follow, but the ones they made for themselves.

* * *

The mention of their song in the beginning of this chapter is from my oneshot [Drunk Confessions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2830637/chapters/8113317)


	4. Broken Wings: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually a oneshot that's been in the back of my mind for a little while, but I decided to use it here, because it fit well with the story I wanted to tell.

Beatrice never really understood the concept of dressing up in Wirt’s world. She had tried makeup once, hated it, and now only used concealer out of necessity. If it weren’t for the love bites Wirt occasionally gave her, Beatrice wouldn’t have anything to do with the product. And there were just so many ways your face could be drawn on, with so many different items. Lipstick, mascara, eyeliner, eye shadow, eyelash curler … so many things for her damn eyes. She felt like a canvas. Only Beatrice wasn’t and wanted to keep it that way.

Likewise, the numerous styles your hair could be done in was absolutely ridiculous. And just like with makeup, there was an abundance of tools for styling your hair, with some being extremely hot (a fact Beatrice had learned the hard way when Sara burned her that one time while attempting to straighten her curls). If you wore your hair up in her world, it usually meant you wanted to keep it out of the way. No one, but the rich, actually took the time to do anything special with their hair and Beatrice’s family was far from that.

And yet somehow, she found herself spending a Saturday afternoon inside a store that specialized in makeup and hairstyles; two things that were so very unappealing to her.

“Come on, Beatrice, you’re going to miss your appointment. Stop pouting in the waiting area. People are staring at you,” Sara complained, glancing over her shoulder at the woman with the short purple hair. She had been eyeing them suspiciously from behind a desk ever since Beatrice called her friend out for leading them into a salon.

“Let them look. I want to cause a scene. I want people to know that I told you I didn’t want to do this weeks ago.” Beatrice harrumphed and crossed her arms across her chest. “You tricked me. You said we were going out to get some last minute things for tonight.”

“And here is where we get those last minute things … hair and makeup for Junior Prom.” Sara smiled encouragingly, but Beatrice returned her grin with a glare. “You know you’re being dramatic … just like Wirt.”

Sara hadn’t meant it as a positive, but Beatrice didn’t mind the comparison. She actually liked that her boyfriend’s characteristics influenced her reactions now. It meant they were less opposites than when they first met. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to let Wirt know you think that,” she replied, causing Sara’s mouth to pull into a grim line.

“Okay, well, then look at Colleen. Even she’s getting her hair done and you know that’s not her thing at all,” Sara tried coercing Beatrice again.

Gazing in the direction Sara pointed, Beatrice saw Jason Funderberker’s girlfriend sitting in a chair with a stylist standing above her. Despite disliking who Colleen was dating, Beatrice considered her a friend and what Sara had said was true. Colleen usually wore little to no makeup and never did anything with her hair. But for some reason this Junior Prom had turned all girls (well, the ones Beatrice knew from Wirt’s group of friends) into glitter loving princesses, and Colleen was currently having her blonde hair twisted into curls to create the perfect updo. Sitting on the stylists counter were some daisies and baby’s breath she assumed would be added to Colleen’s hair once it was all finished with. This caused Beatrice to imagine her own hair being adorned with flowers, and she made a face

Sara noticed her negative reaction and reaching out, grasped Beatrice’s shoulders to lean in for a more personal conversation. “Okay, I realize I can’t make you dress up for prom, and I probably should have told you we were coming here instead of just springing it on you, but … this is what girlfriends do together. We get our hair done, do our makeup, and go to prom with our respective significant others. I’m sorry I have such high expectations in my head for tonight, but over here, prom is a big deal.” Sara paused and took a moment to give Beatrice her best sad expression. “But maybe I should stop trying to push you into something you’re uncomfortable with ... even if you _are_ my best friend.”

It was possible that on someone else, Sara’s change in tactics would have worked, but Beatrice knew her friend too well by now. She loved her, but was also clued into her sly ways. “Oh, piling on the guilt. Have we really reached this point?” Beatrice remarked derisively.

“I had to give it one last ditch effort.” Sara smirked and even with friction flowing between them, Beatrice managed a chuckle.

“You remind me of a young bird me,” she teased, affecting a grandmotherly voice and pinching Sara’s cheeks. “Leading people astray just to get what you want. Oh, those were the days.”

“Okay, Grandma, you can relive the time you met your boyfriend, while I go get myself prettied up,” Sara replied. “If you change your mind, you still have some time left to join me and Colleen down the path of ruin. If anything, think of Wirt.”

“Wirt likes my hair down, thank you!” Beatrice replied, turning her nose up and sitting in one of the chairs lining the wall of the waiting area. Sara nodded, looking slightly amused and then walked away.

Beatrice had told Sara she wanted to make a scene, but now that their disagreement was over, she began to feel conspicuous. Especially since the woman with the purple hair was still looking at her from behind the dumb rectangle glasses on her face. She wasn’t trying to be subtle about it either and Beatrice’s first instinct was to ask the woman what the hell she was looking at. But not wanting to be forcibly removed from the salon for being rude, Beatrice pushed down her temper and to distract herself, picked up one of the hairstyle magazines from a nearby rack.

After turning a few pages, her anger began to subside, but that didn’t mean she felt better. The fire inside had only shifted slightly to form frustration. Beatrice knew she was being difficult about the hair and makeup issue, but also felt like she was making enough sacrifices for this Junior Prom and didn’t feel like adding more to the mix.

One of those concession had been the dress she planned on wearing to that night’s event. It was Sara’s, an old one she had worn to some banquette where her father was honored, and since she was always the giving type, her friend had offered it to Beatrice. The skirt of the dress was long, and flowed around her legs, but the strapless bodice was where Beatrice ran into some trouble. It formed a low cut heart around her breasts and since she was bustier than Sara, it meant her cleavage had spilled out. It didn’t seem to bother Sara though, who had been enthusiastic about the dress from the start. But as Beatrice examined herself in the mirror- her chest seeming to suffocate under the bodice’s constraints- her mother’s reflection had suddenly appeared alongside hers and she was looking down on her daughter disapprovingly. Leggings were nothing when compared to nearly exposed breasts. Her apparition then told Beatrice to take off the dress and wear something more decent … something similar to what hung in her wardrobe back home.

If she had done that though, Beatrice might have been labeled _old fashioned,_ the term she was referred to when she did things or made references that weren’t in step with Wirt’s side. Despite enjoying many of the conveniences his world had to offer, she did struggle at times to fit in and that was the reason she had ultimately accepted the dress. Junior Prom required formal wear and cleavage was not such an unsavory fashion accessory where Wirt was from. Hair and makeup though were purely optional. Only … really they weren’t. At least for her, because by refusing to go along with Sara and Colleen, she was essentially signaling herself as strange again. She would be Wirt’s weird girlfriend who didn’t always assimilate with the teenage girl masses.

Beatrice grumbled to herself as she placed the magazine back into the rack with all the others. She hated the idea of conformity, yet wondered if she was just going to have to give in to make Wirt’s life easier. Sara had made it seem that prom was all about dresses, hair, and makeup for the girls, but that wasn't true. In the weeks leading up to Wirt’s school dance, Beatrice had detected a high level of excitement in him. He had told her several times the type of tux he was renting and had worked extra hard to secure enough money for his part in the price of the limo they would be sharing with his friends. Wirt actually cared a lot about tonight and she wasn’t going to rain on his evening just because she felt like being stubborn. “Ah cheese and crackers,” Beatrice muttered in response to the surrender she was making in her head.

Hearing the uncommon phrase Beatrice had uttered to herself, the woman behind the desk asked, “What does that mean?” and leaned over to rudely stare.

“Uh, nothing,” Beatrice replied, and then added an insult under her breath that _wasn’t_ all that uncommon, using words she probably shouldn’t have.

The receptionist let out a long annoyed sigh and went to answer the ringing phone next to her. Beatrice continued to look as she talked into the receiver and the unnatural shade of her hair stood out brightly against the dark brown wall behind her. Then gradually an idea began to form inside Beatrice’s head. She would get her makeup and hair done, but would also do it on her own terms.

* * *

 

Beatrice had prepared for Wirt’s prom at Sara’s, but was dropped off at his house an hour before the limo would be back for them both. She did so at Wirt’s mother’s request, who wanted them to pose for pictures. Although, even if his mother hadn’t outright said it, Beatrice suspected she also wanted to live vicariously through her. Without having any daughters, this was her chance to recreate and remember. To Beatrice it was just another indication that this prom- even the junior version of it- was extremely important to everyone. It went well over her head why this event was so special, almost like a wedding. Except no one was making any lifelong commitments. Prom was simply a dance, but over in Wirt’s world, this dance was held up to some nearly unattainable high standard.

Beatrice had done her part to conform to what was expected of a prom date. Her hair had been braided at the sides, with the remaining locks twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. Some blue flowers had been added after Sara realized what Beatrice was doing and then dashed off to a nearby florist. There was also another bit of blue in her hair, dyed that color and traveling alongside one of her braids. It was only semi-permanent and therefore wouldn’t provoke much irritation from her mother back home. But it wasn’t like there was much the older woman could do anyway. Beatrice was an adult now after all, even if everyone outside her family believed her to be a likely spinster, who would always be under her mother’s thumb.

Her makeup was also done, and Beatrice was wearing Sara’s dress. Yes, Sara’s damn dress that at that moment was making her feel extremely self-conscious. In hindsight Beatrice wished she would have insisted on a shawl or cape or something along those lines. Sighing, her eyes traveled down to her heaving chest and a grimace formed on her lips. In her world Beatrice was reckless with abandon. In Wirt’s she apparently was a prude. Maybe in some areas, she wouldn’t always choose his world over hers.

But Beatrice wouldn’t let the dress get to her. She would get through the night for Wirt, then not have to worry about prom anymore … until next year. She groaned at the thought. Maybe by his senior year, her boyfriend would outgrow his need to attend prom.

Knowing she was wasting time, Beatrice finally felt compelled to knock on Wirt’s front door that she had been standing in front of for well over five minutes. Wirt answered almost instantly, swinging the door wide, and she imagined he must have been waiting in anticipation for her. It also didn’t go unnoticed by Beatrice that his eyes quickly traveled away from her face and downward in a matter of seconds. “Oh, hey, freckles or um … hey, you, Beatrice,” he coughed nervously. “How are you?”

Beatrice sent him an unamused look, but Wirt didn’t see, because his eyes were still rudely glued to her cleavage. “Yes, I have freckles on my chest. Now, keep your eyes up here.” She whistled like he were George, and Wirt snapped back to attention.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, meeting her eyes again and then as realization spread across his face at how impolite he had been, Wirt let out a long exasperated sigh. “Leave it to me to make things awkward right off the bat. Sorry, but you’ve just never ... I’ve never …”

“It’s Sara’s dress and it’s not my style at all. End of story. Let’s move on to something else,” she stated matter-of-factly and then added, “Honestly, you act like you’ve never seen a pair before.”

“Not like yours,” he smirked and Beatrice pushed him hard enough that he had to grasp the door handle to steady himself.

“You’re insufferable,” she said angrily. “This is exactly why I stood out here for so long before knocking. I just knew this would happen.”

Wirt frowned. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. We always tease each other. It’s kind of our thing.”

He was right. They usually did have a playful back and forth, so why would he think this time was any different? Wirt wasn’t aware of how she felt about prom and Beatrice had taken out her building frustration about the dance, on him. “No, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. This dress is ... well, obviously it’s making me uncomfortable. I’m not used to wearing something that shows off my top this much.” Beatrice bit her lip, feeling some of the lipstick slide off. She made sure to rub a finger against her teeth to avoid having a red smile.

“Why did you wear Sara’s dress then? I could have bought you a different one or you could have worn one from home,” Wirt asked.

“No and no.” Beatrice shook her head. “I didn't want you spending money on me when I was offered this dress for free. Your tux was so expensive and you’re only _renting_ that. And if I brought one from home, then I would be out of place. No one wears that style here and I don’t want to be your weird, fish out of water, prom date.”

“You've never cared before what others think of you?” Wirt sent her a curious stare.

“I don’t,” Beatrice replied, her voice insistent. “But I care about you and I don’t want my over the garden wall strangeness to influence what other’s think of _you_.”

Wirt softly laughed, confusing Beatrice. Her admission hadn’t been a joke. She was very serious about not wanting to make him look bad, but clearly he didn’t feel the same. “Haven’t you noticed by now?” he asked. “Everyone thinks I’m weird. I played the clarinet at a talent show my freshman year. I recite poetry to myself, and it doesn’t always go unheard. So, I think my reputation as strange was sealed years ago and if my girlfriend is weird too then that just fits, doesn’t it?” Beatrice shrugged. His words made her feel marginally better, but not much. “Well, if you’re really that uncomfortable, let me see if I can fix that,” he said, ushering her inside and then rushed to his room. Minutes later Wirt returned with something familiar in his hands and Beatrice snorted.

“You want me to wear that?” she choked out.

“What’s wrong? It’s blue like your dress and hair.” Wirt seemed dumbfounded by her objection. “It’ll cover your top and plus has sentimental value.” He grinned sheepishly and Beatrice smirked.

“Really? The cape from when I met you? Your Halloween costume?” Beatrice asked, enunciating each word.

“I think you’ll wear it fine,” he replied, and then draped it over her shoulders, fastening the first two buttons to hide her cleavage. “There.”

Beatrice looked down at her outfit’s new addition. It looked odd, but felt better than having her breasts nearly exposed. “I don’t think Sara would approve,” she finally stated.

“Sara isn’t my date. You are and if you’re comfortable with it then so am I,” Wirt informed her and she grinned.

“Okay, well, I’ll wear it then. Hopefully your mother will find it nice enough for pictures. Where is she anyway?” Beatrice asked.

“Out in the back yard. She’s set up a few places she wants us to stand. Sorry in advance for how boring this is all going to be. Also she might ask you to sit in the low branches of a tree. I really don’t know what she’s thinking, but I heard her mention it. Ever since Ben bought her that nice camera for Christmas, she thinks she’s a professional now.”

“Eh, I’ll manage,” Beatrice replied as they walked through the house together, but Wirt stopped when they passed the kitchen.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot something,” he said, dashing to retrieve an item from the refrigerator.

“Something to eat?”

“Not unless you eat flowers,” he replied. “It’s your corsage. I actually bought it too early and had to put it in the fridge to keep it from wilting.”

_Great more flowers_

Beatrice held back her groan for Wirt’s sake and let her boyfriend push the band with blue flowers attached, up her hand to rest against her wrist. “So much blue,” she commented, holding it out to regard. “Blue dress, blue shoes, blue cape, and blue flowers.” She hadn’t planned it that way, it had just fallen into place without her realizing.

“Seems fitting for a bluebird,” Wirt smiled at her and Beatrice sent him a chastising look that he shrank under. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I’m not sure why it bothers me, but it’s moments like this that I feel fate is still toying with me, reminding me forever of what I did wrong,” Beatrice admitted, thinking of her other lasting reminders of the curse that she never talked about with anyone. Not even Wirt.

Her boyfriend didn’t say anything, knowing that she sometimes liked silence in the face of her rare introspective moments. But Beatrice shook off her gloom and smiled. “Let’s go get our pictures taken,” she said and Wirt nodded.

Pictures that would ironically have her sitting in a low tree branch … just like a bluebird.


	5. Broken Wings: Part 2

It wasn’t as if Wirt had spent most of his teenage life dreaming about going to prom. That would have been weird, or at least what society deemed as weird for a guy. But admittedly, during his years of pining away for Sara, he’d imagined them in many different scenarios. Attending prom together had been one of those daydreams. Of course, Wirt assumed it was all wishful thinking. Sara would never date him and he’d never go to prom with anyone … ever.

Life though had a way of surprising him. Wirt now knew that the garden wall at the cemetery was a transport for some (himself included) to another world where birds could actually be humans trapped in a curse. With these extraordinary things being possible then certainly it was plausible that something much more boring, like a pathetic loser finding someone to love who loved them back, could happen. And it had. Beatrice was his girlfriend, and prom had managed to push itself from his mind and into reality.

But once the realization hit that prom was an option for him, Wirt became obsessed. He started to view the dance as a rite of passage in a relationship, like a base or step, and he wanted to check prom off his mental list of dating milestones. Wirt clung to that list, because every time something was marked as done, it meant him and Beatrice were normal. They could make a seemingly impossible relationship mirror any run of the mill one from his world.

He’d been so anxious about getting everything right, to meet this relationship expectation, that Wirt hadn’t noticed Beatrice’s discomfort. She disliked dressing up, and large social gatherings made her uneasy. Despite having become a fixture in his life, Beatrice still stumbled around others. Every now and then she would make a reference or do something that was perfectly normal in her world, but strange in his. Usually Beatrice would just brush it off as a joke when others gave her questioning stares. But other times, she wasn’t so quick on her feet with a quip. If that happened, she would close up in response to her mistake and then force out a gruff “I’m fine!” when Wirt asked why she was being so quiet. Beatrice liked hanging out with his family, and being included in his and Sara’s circle of friends, but adding anyone else to the mix (let alone an entire gymnasium of students) could be tricky. He knew all this, yet kept planning and obsessing.

It wasn’t until Beatrice was right in front of him on the day of prom, that Wirt grasped what he’d been doing. Subconsciously, he had been trying to prove that they were normal. That he and Beatrice weren’t in a relationship that could easily end at any moment due to the whims of a temperamental wall. Wirt was so insistent on making prom happen that he hadn’t stopped to think if she really even wanted to go. Now he knew she didn’t. Beatrice had gone along with it all just for him. His negligence of her needs made Wirt feel like a jerk.

“We don’t have to do this you know,” he told her after they’d spent entirely too much time posing for his mom’s camera. “We could call Sara and tell her not to pick us up. You could take off your dress and we could go do something _you_ want to do.”

Beatrice sent him a sideways glance from her position leaning against the tree that moments before she had been forced to sit in. “If you want to get me out of my dress then just say so,” she replied, a playful grin pulling at her lips and Wirt awkwardly laughed.

“Maybe later,” he remarked, but then turned serious again. “I really mean it though. If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

Beatrice was quiet for a moment, a pensive look on her face as she stared off at nothing in particular. “Wirt, I get it,” she finally said. “Prom is a big deal in your world and it’s what people expect of us. I don’t want you to miss out on an important event just because I’m being difficult.” She sighed and he saw the empathy that had been lacking in her when they first met, make an appearance. “We both make sacrifices for each other to keep this complicated courtship going and I’m willing to do this for you.” Beatrice paused and then finally looked him in the eye. Her nose was scrunched up as she glared. “So stop fussing over me like a mother hen.”

“Okay, okay. No more of my trademarked worry,” Wirt promised.

“Good,” she stated and then came up to fiddle with his bowtie. “And besides, you look good in a tux. I wouldn’t mind seeing you wear this for a few more hours.”

Wirt grinned and he thought she was leaning in for a kiss, but instead her hands went up to muss his hair. “Hey, what was that for.” He moved out of her reach.

“I like it better when it sticks up in every direction,” Beatrice laughed. “Besides pictures are done with. You don’t have to look so perfect anymore.”

Wirt smoothed a hand over his head to lay the pieces of hair flat again and Beatrice frowned. “They take pictures at prom too, with an elaborately cheesy background for us to stand in front of. I’m sure my mom will want one of those for her photo album and to share online with all my distant relatives just to embarrass me.”

“That means she’ll also be sharing it with my fake mother,” Beatrice added. “By the way how is fake mother doing these days?”

“Getting plenty of requests from my mom to meet,” Wirt replied. “I’m not sure how much longer I can put it off with just random excuses.”

As a way of avoiding the question of why she couldn’t ever meet Beatrice’s family, a fake online profile had been set up, so Wirt’s mom could communicate with Beatrice’s mom. Only it was really just Wirt playing the role of catfish.

“Well, you could always just tell the truth,” Beatrice suggested.

It was something she brought up every once in a while. Why couldn’t he just tell his parents the reality of their situation? But Wirt wasn’t ready and sighed in relief when an eager Greg made an appearance, forcing the conversation to end. “Beatrice, I picked some flowers for you to hold while you’re walking down the aisle,” he exclaimed and held out a mishmash of different weeds pulled from the backyard.

“Greg, she’s not walking down the aisle. We aren’t going to a wedding,” Wirt reminded his brother, who had already made this mistake three times.

“I know that, Wirt,” Greg replied. “I’m just pretending."

“It’s fine,” Beatrice said, and took the haphazard bouquet from Greg. “I’ll make sure to also hold them when I exchange vows with your brother,” she teased, sending Wirt a look filled with mirth and he smiled back.

* * *

 

Wirt decided he didn’t like Sara’s date not long after entering the limo with Beatrice. The guy attended a different school and was a lacrosse player Sara had met at an away game. After exchanging numbers, they began a fast friendship that transitioned into an even faster dating relationship. Since them as a couple was still a relatively new thing, no one in their group of friends had met him yet, but because of his many years of being casually bullied, Wirt knew an asshole when he saw one.

Chase the lacrosse player with short spiky hair and dudebro laugh, was the only one who mentioned Beatrice wearing Wirt’s cape. Sara had seemed surprised to see her borrowed dress covered in an old Union Army costume, but she’d kept quiet. Chase on the other hand mentioned it right away. “Hey, which way to the Civil War reenactment?” he joked.

“Um, the what?” Beatrice had replied, because of course, having never taken a US History class, she wasn’t aware of the war.

Chase had laughed and Beatrice appeared slightly uncomfortable. “The Civil War,” he said loudly as if she hadn’t heard him instead of not understanding. When Beatrice stared blankly back, Chase made a noise like he was exasperated that he would have to explain further. “You’re wearing the outfit of a Union soldier.”

“I am?” Beatrice looked down at the cape and then glanced back up at Wirt, silently pleading with her eyes for him to help.

He opened his mouth to try and rescue her from the awkward situation, but Funderberker spoke over him. “I think you look nice, Beatrice. A very original outfit choice,” he said in his usual slow and nasally drawl.

“Thanks,” Beatrice muttered, looking back down at the blue fabric covering her top. Wirt reached under the cape to grasp her hand, and she briefly met his eyes. When they were alone he would have to explain the Civil War to her. Aware that this was just another example of Beatrice’s stumbles in his world, Wirt hoped it wouldn’t eat at her for the rest of the night. And he also hoped that Sara’s date would shut up about the cape.

But unfortunately, Chase proved himself to be an even bigger jerk as the ride wore on when he pulled out a flask and offered it to those around him. Sara didn’t look happy and refused to take a drink. “You know I can’t do that. I’ve told you before … about my mom,” she reminded her date.

“Oh, yeah,” Chase said, but seemed unconcerned that he’d offended her and passed it to the person on the other side of him. A few in their group of eight took sips, but Beatrice handed it over to Wirt once he whispered to her what was inside the flask. Chase had noticed this rejection of his liquor and asked, “What’s the matter, Red? You don’t drink? Guess ya gotta stay sober on that battle field.” He then snickered at his own joke.

Wirt saw Beatrice scowl in Chase’s direction, but she remained silent, which wasn’t a typical reaction for her. His girlfriend hardly ever had a problem speaking her mind, especially in the face of a bully, and it made Wirt wonder if Beatrice wasn’t voicing the anger written across her face, because she didn’t want to ruin his evening. It was then that Wirt decided he’d had enough of Chase and his taunting of Beatrice. Even if the thought of standing up to someone larger than him- large enough to potentially break every bone in his body if he wanted to- made Wirt’s heart beat faster with anxiety, he did it anyway. He wouldn't let Chase keep making Beatrice feel insecure about her place in his world. “Her name is Beatrice not Red, a-and you can stop making jokes about her outfit,” Wirt spoke up with as much authority as he was able to force out and Chase looked over at him, a smirk on his face.

“Whatever you say,” he replied and then did a mock salute to Beatrice. “At ease, soldier Beatrice.”

“Stop it, Chase,” Sara warned, finally stepping into the tense situation to reel her date in. “Beatrice is my friend and I don’t like how you’re treating her.”

“God, can’t anyone take a joke?” Chase complained, removing his flask from his suit jacket pocket to take another swig. He then shrugged off his date’s reprimand by asking the group if they’d seen the game last night, although no one really knew what game he was talking about.

When the limo finally arrived at the school, Beatrice lagged behind everyone else, and was the last person left inside the limo. As she began to step out, Wirt was surprised to see his cape was gone, but he also didn’t have to ask why she’d removed it. The reason was a few feet away from him and Wirt sent a sharp look in Chase's direction, but he didn’t notice.

“I’m sorry about Chase, you guys,” Sara said sympathetically, coming up to stand beside him and Beatrice. “He was already drunk when we picked him up. I guess I should have known better than to date someone outside of my comfort zone, but honestly I had no idea he was like this and after tonight I think I’ll be deleting his number from my phone.”

“Too bad you can’t delete him as your date,” Wirt groused, wrapping his arm tightly around Beatrice’s waist.

“No, it’s fine,” Beatrice said. “Having five younger brothers means I’m experienced in blocking out aggravating boys. Besides, I took off the cape. What else can he say to me?”

Sara frowned. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again and then went to rescue her date, who was stumbling away. Wirt didn’t know why Sara bothered. She should have just let him wander off into traffic where he could be hit by a car.

“Are you okay with your top being …” Wirt started to ask Beatrice once they began walking towards the gymnasium, but he didn’t finish, too afraid that he might say the wrong words and make her upset.

But Beatrice didn’t look bothered. “Thanks for the cape and all, but it seemed that was more of a distraction than my breasts.”

“Only to a drunk asshole like Chase,” Wirt spat.

“Please, don’t worry about me, Wirt. I’m fine.” Beatrice brushed off his concern repeating the phase she'd said so often that night - _I'm fine._ But he knew her request was impossible. He always worried about her.

When they reached the entrance to Junior Prom and walked inside, Wirt heard Beatrice stifle a laugh and then say, “It’s worse than I thought. This is absolutely horrible. Pink everywhere.”

Wirt couldn’t remember the prom’s theme, but it looked like the decoration committee had tried to save money by raiding the theater department, because the gym now resembled the last musical performed at their school- _Legally Blonde_. Wirt hadn’t seen it, but was aware enough to know the lead was supposed to love the color pink.

“At least it’s not blue,” he replied, and Beatrice agreed with him.

“I suppose if it were, we would know that fate was finding a way to mess with my head again,” she sighed, her humor transitioning into melancholy, and Wirt thought it was best to drop the subject of the event’s color scheme.

After only a few minutes of being inside, Wirt noticed that there were two types of people in attendance at Junior Prom; those who took to the dance floor and those who stood around with their backs against the wall. Beatrice and Wirt spent most of their time standing around with the latter group and for a while even talked with Colleen and Funderberker. After his attempt to save Beatrice from Chase’s teasing, Wirt had to admit that maybe the guy had some redeeming qualities.

_Maybe_

It took Wirt a long while to work up the courage to ask Beatrice to dance, but eventually they did join the other couples moving about in the center of the gym. He figured he couldn’t attend prom and not dance at least once with his date. And visualizing his relationship checklist, Wirt knew that dancing at prom was definitely one of the bases that needed to be marked off.

It was at a point in the night when prom wasn’t quite over, but the excitement had started to fade, when Beatrice let Wirt lead her out into the crowd of couples. “I’m sorry, but I can’t promise I won’t step all over your feet,” she warned. “I always try my hardest to avoid dances back home. Before I met you, my mother used them as a way to set me up with _dashing gentlemen_ ,” she said the last two words with mocking disdain in her voice.

“I can’t say I’ve ever done this before either,” Wirt admitted. “So, in this case we’re equals.”

“Yeah, equally bad,” Beatrice snorted.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look too hard. Just pretend I’m one of your dashing gentlemen suitors,” Wirt replied with a wry grin as he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling Beatrice in closer.

“Oh Wirt, please stop embarrassing yourself,” she groaned, giving him an expression he knew meant - _you’re such a nerd_ , and then closed her arms around his neck.

The two began swaying back and forth to the slow music coming from the large speakers on stage, not really doing much, but not stepping on each other toes either. Being so close to Beatrice reminded Wirt of their height difference and he was glad that Sara hadn’t convinced her to wear heels. His girlfriend was about two inches taller than him and even if he should have been above disliking being the shorter one in the relationship, he had to admit it still bothered him.

“So, is prom everything you hoped it would be?” Beatrice asked as they moved, her voice a tease, but he could tell she actually wanted to know and Wirt wondered if her words should have been interpreted as- _did I do everything right, like a prom date would?_

“Perfect,” he answered and gently kissed her lips.

When the song ended, Wirt excused himself to the restroom, leaving Beatrice alone near a table that contained drinks and finger foods. He was only away for a few minutes, but when he returned, Wirt was shocked to find that the commotion of a gym filled with students had quieted a great deal. The music was still playing, but it looked as if the majority of people had converged near the table where Wirt had left Beatrice and suddenly a strong sense of dread filled him. Pushing himself into the sea of his classmates, he rudely ran into others in order to get to Beatrice and after finally breaking through to the other side, Wirt gasped at the sight of her standing over Chase. He was knocked out cold, lying across the table with a punch bowl over his head and when Wirt squinted, he thought he could see Chase’s nose dripping blood onto the pink tablecloth.

It didn’t take long for Wirt’s brain to piece together what had happened and he wondered what Chase had done to deserve a punch to the face from his girlfriend. Wirt was sure that once he found out he’d more than likely want to knock Chase out again. At the moment though, the asshole was already dealt with and Wirt needed to see if Beatrice was alright. When he tentatively said her name, her head snapped up and Wirt saw anger across Beatrice’s face, but that emotion quickly transformed into mortification once their eyes met. She didn’t reply and when Wirt made a move towards her, Beatrice instantly bolted in the other direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, 'Legally Blonde' was made into a musical. I didn't make that up.


	6. Broken Wings: Part 3

She wasn’t angry at first. In a way Beatrice pitied Chase, because he was drunk and unaware of how ridiculous he was being. Her memory was hazy, but she had been drunk once before and it hadn’t been her best moment. Wirt had walked Beatrice through it and taken care of her. Maybe that was all Chase needed. She wasn’t one to usually give the benefit of the doubt and if she had met Sara’s date any other time, he would have already gotten a taste of her temper. But Beatrice’s hands were tied. She didn’t want to ruin the night for everyone, so her empathy had taken over. _Feel sorry for him instead of hating him and you will be able to walk away from anything he says to you_.

After the limo ride, Wirt made sure to avoid Chase. He would occasionally look around and if he saw him nearby, his hand would come to rest on the small of her back and he would usher Beatrice into a different area of the gym. Wirt didn’t leave her side until the end of the night and it was almost as if Chase had been waiting for that moment, because not long after her boyfriend disappeared, Sara’s dummy date had shown up.

“I’m glad you took the cape off. You were hiding some nice tits under it,” Chase remarked, slurring some of his words. He had to place a hand on the table next to him in order to keep steady.

Beatrice tried to focus on pitying him. _When he wakes up tomorrow he will regret everything he did tonight._ “If you say so,” she replied using a bored tone and then asked, “Where’s Sara?”

Chase replied to her question with one of his own. “Where’s your skinny nerd?”

She assumed he meant Wirt and after that, Beatrice didn’t feel like giving Chase anymore of her time. She would rather pity him from the other side of the gym. “Okay, well, I have to go, because I don’t like you,” she stated firmly, but before Beatrice could leave, he grasped her upper arm and inched closer.

“What’d you see in him anyway? I bet I could make you forget all about that guy,” he breathed and then rudely moved his hand down to her waist, forcing Beatrice into his body. The smell of alcohol on him was strong enough to make her gag.

But even after that, Beatrice still didn’t want to punch him. She did though give him a good slap, hard enough that he stumbled backwards. “I can’t believe you would do that to Sara or even think I would want to have anything to do with you. You’re repulsive,” she hissed, and then turned around to leave.

It was important that she put some distance between them before she did the wrong thing with the anger growing inside of her. But Beatrice didn’t move fast enough. Chase pulled at the back of her dress and yanked at the zipper. His fingers managed to partially pull it down before breaking the slider all together and the last thing he said before she whirled to hit his face several times was, “What the fuck? Did someone take a knife to your back?”

Beatrice was horrified that something she hadn’t shown anyone was now on display for the last person who deserved such insight into her pain. In her eyes it would have been better if Chase had pulled down her front instead. Breasts were universal. The hacking marks left over from her curse were not. That was when the anger that had been steadily building boiled over and a searing hatred took control. Chase backed away from her after the first blow, but Beatrice couldn’t control herself. She added two more to drive the point home of just how incensed she was. Her last punch sent him falling into the table, where he upset a punch bowl that flew up and then landed on his head. Chase laid splayed across the table, knocked unconscious by Beatrice’s fist.

It really didn’t sink in what had taken place until Beatrice felt her hand begin to throb. Her balled fist hadn’t felt anything upon impact with his face, but after Chase was down, a sharp pain pulsed up her hand. Then she heard Wirt say her name. Beatrice had forgotten where she was, so driven by anger that the setting of her fight was pushed into the background of her mind. Now she remembered and looked up to see not only Wirt, but also a large portion of those in attendance at prom, staring at her. Instantly humiliation replaced her seething hatred and it swallowed Beatrice whole. Her temper had caused a scene; a bad one that couldn’t be explained away and now everyone knew what a freak she was. When Wirt made a move towards her, she instinctively fled. Beatrice didn’t want to face him … or anyone. She didn’t belong at prom. She didn’t belong in Wirt’s world.

Beatrice didn’t take the time to think about where she was running to, only that she needed to escape, and with self-hatred pushing her forward, she soon found herself in the school’s stadium. It was a place Beatrice had visited a few times before, mostly to keep Sara company during her down times at games, but in the dark it looked ominous and sent a shiver down her spine. It was enough trepidation to keep her from running further.

Once she was still, Beatrice had time to let her frenzy calm and was able to look at her situation sensibly. If she kept going it would only take her into areas she was unfamiliar with. Plus her dress was broken. As she ran, she had been forced to keep yanking her bodice up to keep the upper half of her torso from being exposed. Beatrice was a mess and in no condition to go on by herself. But she didn’t want to head back to the gym for help.

Defeated, without any way to fix her predicament on her own, she felt herself emotionally crashing and even if there wasn’t anyone in the stadium with her, Beatrice went to hide under the bleachers. The thought of someone finding her out there crying made her even more miserable. She rarely let others see when she crumpled. Only a few had gotten a glimpse of Beatrice at her weakest and it was one of those few who came into the stadium moments later calling her name. Of course, he had followed her. She shouldn’t have expected any less from him.

For a few seconds, Beatrice debated staying silent and letting Wirt pass by. But then she began to think of the time he had gone searching for Greg in her world. She didn’t want to remind Wirt of that by letting him wander around worried and searching all night like he had with his brother. It wasn’t right. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, Beatrice tried to hide her pain before stepping out. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look at him, the way he sounded now, calling out her name with worry, and try to pass herself off as fine. She was far from it and Beatrice knew he probably wouldn’t believe her anyway. Wirt could always see through her and this time a simple _I’m fine_ , wouldn’t work.

When she finally came out into the open, Wirt looked stunned, like he hadn’t expected to find her there. Initially he took a step towards Beatrice, but stopped abruptly. Something he saw in her held him back and they both stood there in the dark, neither moving. “Beatrice …” he hesitated, like she was an animal he didn’t want to spook.

Her heart began to beat faster, knowing it was her job to fix things, not his. “Wirt, I … I’m sorry,” she broke the silence between them, treading carefully, not sure what his reaction would be. Wirt might be glad he found her, but then begin to chastise her for what had happened back at prom. She couldn’t change any of what she had done out of anger, but she could let him know it wasn’t a proud moment for her. “I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

Wirt sighed loudly, like he was distressed, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Beatrice thought of a million ways to answer his questions with a lie. She wanted to tell him anything, but the truth. In the end though her fragileness won over and she retorted, “Do I look okay? Can’t you tell that I am _far_ from okay?” She didn’t intend for her answer to come out sounding so angry, but for her it was easier to show that emotion than completely fall apart. Yet, that was exactly what she did seconds later when Wirt escaped the distance between them and pulled Beatrice into an embrace.

“What the hell happened? What did he do?” Wirt asked the questions, Beatrice could tell he had been holding back until he knew she wouldn’t run again. She wanted to answer, but began to cry instead and Wirt said her name like a lament, so quietly that she wasn’t sure if it had been her imagination. He let her tears fall onto his shoulder for a few minutes, his arms wound tightly around her, and when she was finally composed enough, he led Beatrice to the bleachers where they sat side by side.

She wanted him to reach his hands out and play with her hair, like he usually did when things were calm and just a little bit boring between them. She wanted to pretend that prom had never happened, that they were at his home, hanging out on a lazy Sunday. But, then she remembered her hair was still up and of course, things were far from calm.

Beatrice waited for him to say something to her, but instead Wirt pulled out his phone and began texting. Glancing over, she saw that he was writing Sara, but she didn’t take the time to read it. She suspected none of what he was telling her was anything she wanted to see anyway. When he put his phone back into his jacket pocket, Wirt exhaled and then found her hand, entwining their fingers. “I don’t blame you for hitting him,” he said. “Actually, I was surprised it took you that long. But, I can only guess it wasn’t easy for you to ignore him for as long as you did, so whatever that asshole did that made you hit him, it wasn’t just a simple joke about your outfit.” Wirt’s eyes were on their hands, twisted together in his lap, but he looked up before asking the question she expected would come next, “Beatrice, what did he do?”

She stared back at him. The darkness of the night, hiding the variations of color in his brown irises that she studied sometimes. She loved his eyes. She loved him. But was love enough to share with Wirt the real reason Chase had incensed her. Her scars were her own private burden. She was embarrassed by them. They were ugly and whenever Beatrice glimpsed the jagged pink iridescent marks traveling downward under each of her shoulder blades, she was reminded of her own stupidity. The cruel Beatrice who tormented others was never far away from her memory when she saw those scars. “Chase … he …” Beatrice shook her head, not sure where to begin or even if she wanted to continue.

“Please, tell me. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s worse in my head than what really happened. I’m going crazy thinking what he could have done to you to make you punch him.” Wirt tried to keep calm, but she could see a hint of anger in his expression. It wasn’t a common emotion for her to see from him. “Honestly, now that I’ve found you, all I want to do is go back there and punch him again for whatever it is he did, that fucker.”

Wirt didn’t usually swear and it startled her at first, but it was enough of a jolt to pull Beatrice out of her reluctance to speak. “It’s not that bad. Well, I mean, he deserved it, but …” Beatrice pulled in a breath and then exhaled loudly before continuing. “Imagine there’s something about you that makes you feel ashamed. It’s a part of you that you’ll never be able to get rid of and it’s so bad you don’t want to share it with anyone.”

“Like my poetry?”

“No, I don’t mean _you_ personally, and you’re poetry isn’t terrible, Wirt. If you thought it was you wouldn’t recite it out loud for the world to hear.” Beatrice knew she was going to have to be less vague and decided to jump headlong into her pain. Only for Wirt would she reveal something so personal. “Do you know why we’ve never gotten to the point in our relationship where I’ve felt comfortable letting you see me without clothes?” she asked gently.

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready and I assumed you weren’t,” Wirt replied.

“I wasn’t ready, because I was afraid of you seeing my back.” Letting go of his hand, Beatrice turned away from him, exposing the broken zipper. “Chase got handsy with me and when I tried to walk away, he broke the back of my dress. Then he saw my scars.”

She could feel Wirt reaching out to pull aside the fabric. “When did you get these?” he asked, and Beatrice knew he meant the marks etched permanently into her lower back.

“After my wings were clipped. I’m the only one in my family with them. It means that even though I’m not cursed as a bird anymore, the curse is not completely broken and never will be, or at least that’s what I assume. It’s fate’s way of reminding me what I did. I hate them and I’ve never shown them to anyone. Chase forced me to reveal a part of myself I’m ashamed of … and I-I lost my temper. _Obviously_.”

Wirt’s touch was cool as he trailed his finger down a scar and Beatrice flinched, not from pain, but from the newness of anyone touching her there. “I’m sorry. Does that- did I hurt you?” he anxiously asked, yanking his hand away.

“No, you touching them is fine,” Beatrice replied, turning back around. “But sometimes when it rains they ache. I’m not sure why.”

Wirt frowned and shrugged out of his suit jacket. Without a word he draped it over her shoulders and Beatrice shoved her arms into its sleeves. “I’m sorry you were forced to show your scars,” he said, placing a hand against one of her cheeks. “If it makes you feel any better, your punch probably gave him a concussion and he’ll forget about what he saw. And even if he doesn’t, you’ll never have to worry about him again. I promise.”

“So, you’re not mad that I ruined prom and that you’re whole school now knows how hot tempered and crazy I am?” Beatrice asked.

Wirt chuckled. “First of all, it’s only the Junior Class, not the whole school, and secondly, everyone there knows what an ass Chase was being. I saw a few angry stares directed at him over the course of the night. If anything, everyone probably views you as a hero for standing up to him.” Beatrice wasn’t sure if what Wirt said was just him twisting the truth for her benefit, but she also didn’t care. She would take it. “Now, let’s get you out of here,” Wirt added, pulling Beatrice to her feet, but keeping his hold on her once they were standing

“Where are we going?” She hoped not back to the gym.

“Sara called the limo driver. He’s coming back to pick everyone up early. Everyone, but Chase.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Wirt, I don’t know if I’m ready to face them.”

“Trust me, they all feel terrible about what happened and know it was all Chase’s fault. They’ll leave you alone and then when we get to Sara’s you don’t have to see anyone if you don’t want to,” he replied, bringing his lips to her forehead for a kiss.

“Will you stay at Sara’s with me? At least for a little while?” Beatrice asked, not liking how pathetically needy her voice came out sounding

“Anything you need me to do for you, I'll make it work," Wirt offered.

Beatrice felt drained from everything that had happened, and couldn’t find it in herself to object to going back. “Okay,” she sighed, and let Wirt lead her off the field.

* * *

 

After arriving at Sara’s, Beatrice headed straight to the guest bedroom, changed out of her broken dress, pulled her hair down, and got into bed. Wirt stayed in the living room with Sara for a little while. She wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but did hear the name Chase spoken angrily and loudly from Wirt a few times. He was out there for nearly 30 minutes, before coming in to join her. “What were you two talking about?” Beatrice asked him as he slid into bed beside her.

“It’s not important. I don’t want you to have to think about what happened tonight anymore,” he answered, moving in closer to spoon her.

Beatrice knew he was probably right and didn’t push for him to answer. She would let Wirt and Sara work out whatever they needed to with Chase. “How long can you stay?” Beatrice said, changing the subject.

“There’s no time limit. I called my mom; told her I was staying at Funderberker’s.”

Beatrice laughed loudly into the darkness of the room. “As if there wasn’t a more unbelievable lie.”

Wirt snickered and his breath hit the back of her neck. “She bought it, and actually I’ve used that excuse before when I’ve stayed overnight in your world,” he responded and pulled her in tightly. “It’s nice to hear you laugh … after what happened. I’m so sorry prom was such a disaster for you.”

Beatrice was quiet for a moment. “Wirt, I’m sorry too that I never told you about my scars. I don’t want you to think that I didn’t trust you enough to let you see them.”

“You don’t have to tell me or show me anything you aren’t comfortable with, Beatrice.”

“But I _am_ comfortable with you,” she replied. “I don’t know why I’ve kept it a secret for so long. If I could trust anyone with this problem then it should be the person I love, right?”

“You shouldn’t view your scars as a problem,” Wirt told her. “ _I_ don’t see them that way. They’re just a part of who you are. We all have things we’ve done in the past that we’re not proud of, but that doesn’t mean we should let them rule over us. If anything, you should view your scars like the rings of a tree. They stand for your growth, of what you’ve become. You are not your past.”

Once he was done speaking, Beatrice was so moved by his sentiment that she reached down to grasp the bottom of the T-shirt she had worn to bed. Then pulling the material upward, she removed the shirt and threw it on the floor. “These marks are a part of me and I want to share who I am with you.”

Wirt kept quiet and for a moment her pulse quickened with worry, but then she felt his warm lips on her back, kissing and caressing her scars. He was so tender that her heart swelled and Beatrice turned over to meet his lips with her own. They kissed for a long while as Wirt took the time to explore her mouth, neck, and breasts. His hands were always moving along her scars, letting her know he loved every part of her … even the parts she was ashamed of.

When their passion fell away and they moved into a comfortable embrace, Beatrice felt herself begin to slowly fall asleep in his arms, but stirred when he whispered her name. “Hmmm?” she answered.

“I’m sorry that I’ve never told my parents the truth about how we met. I know it bothers you and if you’re willing to show me a very vulnerable side of yourself then I don’t know what’s holding me back. I want to stop lying and let them know who you really are, who I really love.”

She was too tired to let it show just how happy his words made her, but before falling into the darkness of sleep, Beatrice managed to mumble, “I love you,” and he repeated the words back to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beatrice having scars is a headcanon I've had from the beginning, so I thought I would add it to the iylpp universe.


	7. Interlude: Fix You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was completely self-indulgent. I had already started work on the next story arc, but came back to Broken Wings even though I liked the way it had ended. I wanted to see the ending from Wirt's POV and so I wrote this for myself. But why shouldn't I share it with you all. Consider this an interlude and maybe also a set up for Wirt's thought process in the next chapter.

_-Oh, my talking bird_  
_Though your feathers are tattered and furled_  
_I'll love you all your days_  
_Till the breath leaves your delicate frame-_

_Death Cab For Cutie_

* * *

She was able to sleep, but he wasn’t. She had found calm despite her pain, but his mind wanted to keep him awake because he was angry. Not at her. Wirt could only feel love and sympathy for what Beatrice had gone through. No, he was angry at the person who had hurt her, but also at the person who hadn’t been able to stop it. Himself.

He was well aware that it was an outdated concept that _he_ had to protect _her_. If anything, she had done the majority of protecting for _him_. Beatrice rarely needed Wirt as her defense. That was just the way their relationship worked. It didn’t bother him anymore like it had during the early days when everything was new, with both of them trying to maneuver all the sharp twists and turns of first love.

But that was just it. Beatrice had been there for him numerous times and the one instance where she had needed him to defend her, Wirt hadn’t been there. He’d done all he could to fix the harm Chase had inflicted, and it had opened them both up to a new emotional depth -she’d let him see and touch her scars- but that didn’t mean he could just let it go. He was wallowing in the very basic feeling of needing retribution for his girlfriend. It was all very dramatic in his head, him wanting to defend her honor. Even the word retribution felt out of place for what had really happened. But it was the way Wirt felt. He was angry with a vengeance.

As if sensing his strong emotions, Beatrice stirred in her sleep and Wirt glanced down at the mess of red hair spread across his chest. He smoothed it away to reveal her face and its many freckles. Snoring was something he’d grown accustomed to hearing from her. It was always an opened mouth sound, like she was breathing through thick saliva, some of which had escaped her mouth and landed on his white collared shirt. Wirt was still dressed in his prom attire, having only taken off his shoes, suit jacket, and bow tie. Staying at Sara’s hadn’t been planned, but after hearing the desperate tone in Beatrice’s voice asking him to stay with her, Wirt knew there wasn’t any other choice for him. If that meant a night spent in his prom clothes then it really wasn’t such a big sacrifice to make. When it came to her happiness, nothing felt like a sacrifice.

Beatrice though, wasn’t wearing as much as him. Only the material of her underwear kept her from being completely naked against his clothed body. It was the most she’d ever revealed to him and even in the dark, Wirt found her more beautiful than any of his daydreams had ever been. And there had been many. But nothing compared to the way she looked in reality and his mind took him back to before she had fallen asleep, to the soft skin of her firm breasts that he had been able to feel with his mouth and also fit into the palm of his hand. Then of course there were her freckles. They never ended … except where her skin was damaged with scars.

They were hidden now by the comforter draping them both, but Wirt pushed it down to expose her back. Beatrice moved, but the soft cadence of her snores continued on. Gently his fingers traced the slightly raised marks that began where her shoulder blades ended and stretched downward, stopping just short of the fabric covering the curve of her bottom. They didn’t travel in a straight line, but diverged in different directions as if someone had taken an axe and hacked away her wings with their eyes shut. It didn’t bother him to look at her damaged back, but he could see why it had been such a traumatic experience for her when Chase had exposed the scars. They were ugly- probably intentionally so, to make her remember. The witch who had given her the curse had been thorough, offering Beatrice a way to break it, but not without consequence.

Again his mind brought him back to Chase, especially the smirk he saw on his face whenever Wirt tried to imagine what it had been like for Beatrice. He was always smirking each time and it made him want to break that self-satisfied grin and the face it belonged to. Not that fighting Chase was an option. The lacrosse player was much larger than him by far, but even so, Wirt had argued with Sara about what could be done. He wanted to go back and physically hurt Chase, his anger making Wirt forget about all the many ailments that made him hopeless at fighting. He’d probably end up in the ER or worse, faint without even throwing the first punch. Ultimately Wirt had given in to Sara’s request to _just let it go_. She didn’t want anything he did to come back to Beatrice. And neither did Wirt. His girlfriend shouldn’t have to be reminded about Chase or what had happened. Hopefully his drunk state coupled with Beatrice’s punches would make the asshole forget everything. He’d end up at home in the taxi they had shoved him in, without any recollection of the night. That would be the best scenario for everyone.

Wirt groaned softly thinking of how he had to find a way to redirect his anger. It wasn’t useful and would only serve to drive him crazy. He needed to stick to what he was good at, which was helping Beatrice whenever she felt down. It was an ability he had over everyone else. Rarely did she let others into her emotional turmoil. Beatrice was prideful as hell and always chose suffering alone over telling someone she wasn’t strong enough. But Wirt was allowed a tiny window into that part of her and he wouldn’t take that access lightly. “I’ll try to always be there for you, through everything if I can,” he spoke softly, knowing Beatrice couldn’t hear him, but still feeling the need to say the declaration out loud anyway.

It was a promise he would start enacting by doing what he did best- making a mix-tape. It was how he was there for Beatrice when they weren’t together and Wirt wanted to create a playlist of songs for her to listen to whenever she was feeling upset about her scars. They would all contain lyrics that conveyed a message of loving someone despite their imperfections or how those imperfections didn’t define them.

As Wirt began to mentally compile a list of music he would put together on tape as soon as he got home the next day, his anger began to slowly slip into the background. Coming up with playlists was always relaxing for him, but now the effect seemed stronger than before, because it gave him peace to know that this playlist would help Beatrice find calm too and maybe serve as a reminder of just how much he loved her.


	8. In Limbo: Part 1

Wirt didn’t keep track of how long he waited, but knew it was taking Beatrice longer than usual to make an appearance, and he couldn't remember her ever not being prompt when coming over the wall. Weekends were when they finally saw each other after being apart during the week, and neither wanted to waste any of the little time they had together.

But when the sun began to set, Wirt felt compelled to check his phone. Noticing that an hour had passed caused a dark premonition to enter his head and his heart began to race with worry. Maybe Beatrice had tried, but wasn’t able to climb over. Maybe his worst fear was finally happening. She was trapped and so was he. His two year relationship was over in an instant the wall deciding their fate for them. “No,” Wirt whispered to himself, shoving his phone back into his pocket and racing towards the wall. He intended to climb, to see if he could still access her world, but when Wirt wedged his foot in between two bricks for leverage, he paused. Next to him, nestled in the grass, was a white envelope and Wirt knew it could only be from Beatrice. Who else used the wall to deliver letters? He picked it up and saw his name written across the front in Beatrice’s handwriting. Without hesitation he tore the envelope open and read the words inside.

_Wirt,_

_I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit tonight. George died this morning and I’d really just like to be alone, but I’ll be there tomorrow to visit the college with you and Sara. Pick me up in the morning. I love you._

_Beatrice_

Wirt let out a loud sigh and pressed his forehead against the bricks. He hadn’t realized how worried he was until his knees grew weak from the reassurance that the wall still worked. Beatrice was fine and they were still able to be together. But as he sat down to soak in his relief, it hit him that everything was not really fine. It was better than his original thought, but still not good for Beatrice. Wirt never really cared for George and being allergic to him made it that whenever the dog was around, he wasn’t. Beatrice on the other hand had grown up with George. She disliked many things he did, but also considered the animal a part of her family. When everyone had been cursed as bluebirds, George had stayed near their home, refusing to leave until his owners came back.

Now _he_ would never come back.

It was hard for Wirt to empathize, but he tried. After Wirt’s dad left, his mom had bought him a puppy to try and take away some of the pain, but when his allergy was discovered, she went down the line of animals, each smaller and less hairier than the next, until they settled on a fish. It was always hard to develop an emotional attachment to something that died so frequently, but deep down, every time one of his fish was found floating at the top of its fishbowl, Wirt experienced some sense of loss. He tried to expand on that feeling and imagine what Beatrice must be going through at that moment. It wasn’t a good sensation and even if she’d written that she wanted to be alone, Wirt made the choice to call his mom, tell her he would be visiting Beatrice overnight, and then climbed the wall into his girlfriend’s world. He wouldn’t let Beatrice experience the pain of losing a pet alone.

When he arrived at the door of her home, Wirt had an uneasy feeling in his gut. It was quieter than usual and he attributed the stillness in the air to the lack of a dog’s bark coming from either inside or outside of the house. George could always sense whenever Wirt was nearby and made sure to announce his presence to everyone within earshot. He thought it maybe had something to do with the animal’s ability to smell his fear. This time though, Wirt was able to approach Beatrice’s house without hearing much of anything. The emptiness was eerie.

After Wirt knocked, Beatrice’s mom answered looking surprised to see him at first, but then she ushered him inside. “Beatrice didn’t mention you would be visiting. I’m afraid we’ve already eaten dinner, but maybe I could scrounge up some food for you.”

Wirt shook his head. “No, thanks. Beatrice actually doesn't know I’m here, so I’m not sure if I’ll be staying. It’s up to her.” Knowing his girlfriend’s penchant for unpredictability, Wirt thought she could very well refuse to see him. He was going against what she’d asked.

“Well, I can’t say my daughter will be much company for you,” Beatrice’s mom sighed. “She hasn’t left her room in hours. Didn’t even come down for dinner, but maybe now that you’re here, you can convince her to leave her isolation. You and Henry seem to be the only two she ever listens to, but this time I’m afraid even Henry can’t coax her to leave her room. She’s taken George’s death harder than everyone else. Odd really, considering I never thought she cared much for him.” The woman shook her head and placing her hand on Wirt’s back she gently guided him towards the stairs. “Good luck.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, and then began climbing to the upper level and Beatrice’s bedroom.

“And keep the door open,” he heard her say from behind him, causing Wirt to snort under his breath. Unlike his world, being eighteen held very little sway when it came to what Wirt was allowed to do with Beatrice over on her side. Alone time in a room with the opposite sex always meant the door had to stay open, no matter your age.

Naturally her door was closed when he approached. He had expected that, but what Wirt hadn’t expected was the ten year old boy sitting off to the side of it. “Oh hey, Henry,” Wirt greeted Beatrice’s youngest brother.

“Hey, Wirt,” he replied nonchalantly, like it wasn’t weird for him to be sitting out in the hallway.

“Uh, just checking in on Beatrice,” Wirt said after a pause, not really knowing why he felt the need to explain what he was doing.

“Okay.” Henry drew out the word in a way that Wirt thought meant - _why are you telling me?_

“Okay,” Wirt repeated the word back to him and turned around to grimace at how dumb he sounded. It never failed. He always screwed up every interaction he ever had with Beatrice’s siblings, leaving an air of awkwardness between him and them whenever he visited. Wirt wondered if that would ever change. Pushing aside his desire to sulk over his inability to relate with most everyone, he rapped his knuckles against Beatrice’s door, but heard nothing in reply.

“You have to knock harder and not stop,” Henry explained, and Wirt turned his head to look at the boy. “She ignores you at first. Then she gets mad. She’ll start yelling, but at least you’ll have her attention.”

“Oh, uh … good to know.” Wirt focused back at the door. He didn’t want to anger Beatrice, but if it was the only way to get her attention then there really wasn’t any other choice. Wirt began a steady rhythm of knocks that eventually turned into the beat of a song he’d had stuck in his head earlier that day. Finally after about a minute, Wirt got his response.

“Ugh, shut up, Henry. I’ve told you already. I’m not coming out!” Beatrice shouted.

“See. I told you,” her brother said, a smugness in his tone.

Wirt cleared his throat. “It’s not Henry. I’m Wirt. I mean, it’s Wirt. I’m here to talk … that is if you want. Do you want to?” He shook his head at how he was stumbling over his words and when Beatrice didn’t acknowledge him, he added, “Beatrice, did you … did you, uh, hear me?”

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door and then the twist of a lock, before the knob turned. The door creaked as Beatrice opened it just enough to be seen. “I thought I told you I wanted to be alone.” By the scowl on her face he could see Beatrice was angry that he’d gone against what her letter asked.

“George just died. I couldn't let you deal with that by yourself,” he replied sympathetically.

“You know sometimes I like to deal with my problems on my own. This is one of those times,” her voice was gruff.

“Please, can you let me inside? I want to help,” Wirt gently prodded.

“No!” She shut the door in his face. He was about to knock again, but Beatrice swung it wide seconds later and stepped out into the hallway. “I’m walking you back to the wall. It’s the only way I know you’ll leave.” With quick feet she hurried past him and Henry, looking at neither of them. Wirt followed at the same pace and tripped down the last two steps of the staircase, before finally catching up with her at the front entrance.

“Beatrice, wait,” Wirt said, grasping her hand, but she pulled away.

“I told you I’d see you tomorrow. Why do you always think I need you? I can take care of myself you know,” she went straight into lecturing him in a loud voice that alerted those nearby. One of Beatrice’s sisters, Esther, peered from behind a door.

Wirt placed his index finger against his lips and made a shushing sound, which had the opposite effect he was hoping for. “Don’t hush me!” she warned while glaring at him.

“Okay, I’m sorry, but, can we let’s talk about this outside.” He motioned with his head in the direction of Esther and now a brother, Alexander, staring at them.

Beatrice waved at them sarcastically. “Enjoying the show?” she asked and they both ducked out of view. “Yes, good,” she said, turning back to Wirt. “Let’s take this outside to the wall and send you over it.” She opened the door and strode out forcing Wirt to jog alongside her.

Her reaction absolutely stunned him. He thought at worst she would tell him to go home, but her venomous anger, like he’d been the one who killed George, threw Wirt for a loop. “Beatrice, how are we going to see where we’re going in the dark? Shouldn’t we go back for a lantern?” The sun was nearly set and only a pinkish hue was left over on the horizon. Soon it would be too dark to see.

“Just use that flashlight on your keychain,” she retorted back.

“But what about you? You won’t be able to get back without it.”

“Then let me have it,” Beatrice suggested, her eyes still on the path in front of them.

“It’s attached to my keys. I need them to drive home,” Wirt protested.

“Give me your keys. I’ll take the flashlight off.” She lunged for his pants pockets, but Wirt prevented her from getting that far.

“Beatrice, stop! You’re acting nuts!” He held on tightly to her shoulders, keeping her back and wondering if she would fight him to get to his keys again. Her actions had been so unpredictable (even for her) that Wirt didn’t know what to expect. But gradually, the fire in her expression began to fall away, and when her eyes widened in surprise, like she was looking at her past actions through the lens of clarity, Wirt knew his keys were safe. “I get it, okay,” he continued. “ _Clearly_ , you don’t want me here. So, I’ll just go. You don’t have to follow me to make sure I leave. I don’t want to stay where I’m not wanted.” It wasn’t his intention to sound so wounded. Wirt tried his hardest to indicate he was fine with Beatrice not wanting him to be there ~~-~~  which he probably would have been if she hadn’t acted so irate. But she had, and feigning apathy when he actually cared a great deal, was always difficult. He was just too sensitive for his own good.

Wirt let her go and stood still for a moment in front of his girlfriend, hoping she would use his stalling as an opportunity to ask him to stay. But she only brought her hands up to cover her mouth and stared at him in shock. “Beatrice, are you going to be okay if I leave?” His voice was gentle and in response, she dropped her hands, revealing a deep frown. “Would it be alright if I stayed? I’d really like to stay,” he pressed and her reply was a nod. “Okay.” The word came out in a long drawn out breath as he gathered her into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Wirt,” she finally said, all traces of anger gone. “I’m not upset that you came to see me.”

Wirt was unable to hold back the dubious laugh that broke free from his mouth. “Uh, well, I’m not sure you know this, but that’s not the way you came across at all.”

“I know, but I had my reasons for not wanting to see you tonight and I felt forced into dealing with those reasons when I saw you.”

“You didn’t want me to see you falling apart over George?” Wirt guessed. It was an explanation that made sense to him. Beatrice’s need to keep her weaknesses hidden had been a common characteristic of hers when they first met. Although, she’d mostly gotten over it in the two years since they began dating.

“No.” Beatrice pulled away, shaking her head. “It’s not that. It’s more … complicated. But I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet.” She bit her bottom lip.

“Then we won’t talk about it. What do you want to do instead?” Wirt asked.

Beatrice looked small and defeated, her emotions having moved from one end of the spectrum to the other in a matter of minutes. He could see now that her anger had been masking a sadness underneath. “I suppose I should start by going back and apologizing to Henry too. He always gets weird when I’m moody and tries to pull me out of it. I wasn’t very nice to him,” her voice cut short for a moment, like she was contemplating something and then Beatrice added, “You two dummies have a lot in common when you stop to think about it.”

“I don’t think Henry would like to hear you say that. He thinks I’m a nerd.” Wirt sulked.

“Well, you _are_ , but that doesn’t mean you aren’t someone to aspire to be like. It’s all really an act anyway. Henry doesn’t want to let on that he likes you. You try too hard with him and then he doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction.” She smiled, and even if it looked a bit forced, Wirt welcomed the change. He'd rather have her trying to fight her sadness than letting anger conceal it.

“I’ll try to remember that.” Wirt took her hand and they began walking back in the direction they’d come from. “You know … maybe that’s my problem with you too,” he said after a short pause.

“But you don’t have a problem with me,” Beatrice corrected him.

“Don’t I?” he replied. “I’m always trying to be there for you, even if you don’t want me to be. Maybe I'm smothering you and should stop trying so hard.”

“No!” she yelled a little too forcefully. It was enough of a protest to make Wirt stop in his tracks and look at her questioningly. By the expression on her face, Wirt could tell she hadn’t meant to be so loud. “Well, what I mean is, no, you’re not smothering me … actually it’s the opposite,” Beatrice elaborated.

“What do you mean?” Wirt stared at her intently, but she shook her head.

“Never mind. Let’s … let’s just go back.” Beatrice closed herself off to him and Wirt sighed, knowing her volatile emotions shouldn’t be pushed. Without saying anything in reply, they continued to walk towards her home, a deep silence spreading thickly between them.

* * *

 

For the rest of the evening, Beatrice left whatever had been on the tip of her tongue unsaid, and Wirt didn’t press her to tell him either; although it wasn’t without effort. It didn’t make sense to him that she would think he wasn’t spending enough time with her. That was what Wirt took away from her little insistence that he wasn’t smothering her, but the opposite. Every moment he had available when he wasn’t in school or working, he spent with her. Wirt wanted to get into why she had said what she did, but instead tried to distract himself by listening to all the stories Beatrice’s family told about George.

It began as a one off tease from Andrew reminding everyone how George always growled at Wirt whenever he was nearby. But after that, each member of the large family took time to tell some antidote of how the dog had done something funny, amazing, or just plain stupid. Beatrice’s story was familiar to Wirt. He’d heard many times of how her dog had been the one to find Wirt’s first tape the one not for her, but for Sara. Because of George, they had found each other again and when Beatrice finished recalling the memory, he noticed tears in her eyes.

Once the stories came to an end, everyone began slowly moving to their respective beds for the night, which for Wirt meant his pillow and blanket out in the barn. George was no longer staying in the house, but that didn’t mean his hair wasn’t. Wirt didn’t want to wake up wheezing in the middle of the night, so he declined Beatrice’s mom’s insistence that he use the trundle bed in Henry’s room. And anyway, the barn wasn’t so bad. He had a spot in the loft with soft hay he could lay against and fall asleep. The only problem was in winter when the temperatures could plummet while he rested, but since it was now spring, Wirt knew he would be able to stay warm under his blanket.

At first, Wirt struggled to fall asleep, his mind busy repeating over and over the fight he’d had with Beatrice. It was all perplexing to him as he tried to figure out where her mindset had been when (in not so many words) she had told Wirt he wasn’t giving her enough of his time. The more it played in his head the less he understood her frustration and after a while, Beatrice’s image faded behind his eyelids as he began to drift. But just as he was on the edge of falling asleep, an unexpected noise caused Wirt to bolt upright.

After shaking away his grogginess, the sound registered in his memory as the barn doors opening. A horse below neighed and Wirt’s heart leapt into his throat. “Hello?!” he shouted, but then thought better of it. Altering horse thieves of his presence probably wasn’t the best idea and when he heard the creaking of ladder steps protesting underneath the weight of someone climbing up to the loft, he began to freak out. Shoving handfuls of hay over his body, Wirt tried to bury himself and only stopped when his eyes caught sight of a brilliant red that could only belong to his girlfriend’s hair. A second later her whole body was in view as she crawled into the loft with him. “W-what? Why? How?” Wirt stammered.

“All good questions,” Beatrice giggled, moving closer to him, so her fingers could begin removing the hay from his body. “Soooo, is there a reason why you’re all covered in hay?”

“Is there a reason why you’re out here?” Wirt asked, diverting the attention away from him. “What if your parents find you alone with me? And at night!”

“Wirt, I’m nineteen. I’m tired of living by their rules just because I’m not married.” Beatrice continued to remove hay, but Wirt grasped her hands to still them once he noticed she was only wearing her chemise. He’d never actually seen Beatrice dressed in the undergarment before and the nightgown itself wasn’t all that revealing considering how fashions trends could be on his side of the wall, but here in her world, the thin, low cut dress worn under women’s clothing was something he wasn’t supposed to see. For some reason, despite the fact he’d already seen Beatrice nearly naked many times before, it made him embarrassed.

“Y-you need to get out of here. I don’t want to make your parents angry,” he protested, but Beatrice yanked her hands out of his hold.

“And what about me. Don’t you care if you make _me_ angry?” She glowered at him.

Her mercurial emotions were back and Wirt struggled to find his voice. “Of course, but I don’t” he began, but decided to be more straightforward. “Why _are_ you out here?” She’d never ventured into the barn before while he slept. What was the point? They could be alone anytime on his side of the wall. Why risk upsetting her parents?

Beatrice was quiet as she absently twisted a lock of her hair. “I just wanted to talk,” she finally confessed, but he didn’t buy it.

“We can talk whenever you want. Just not out here where your parents might find us in a compromising situation.” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, I can’t really talk to you whenever I want, not when you’re about to leave me for college,” she snapped.

“What? I am not. I haven’t even graduated yet,” he shot back.

“But you will and tomorrow we’re going to visit that university with Sara.”

“Because _she_ wants to go there. We’re just going along to keep her company. This is all stuff you already know, Beatrice,” Wirt reminded her.

“But what if you like it there and decide community college isn’t the plan for you anymore. What if they have exactly what you want a degree in hopeless poetic nerd or something stupid like that? Then I’m stuck here living at home waiting. Always waiting. I’m so tired of waiting, Wirt. I want to get out of here and have a life. I’m surrounded by people, but I always feel alone.” There was a soft tremble in her voice and Wirt reached for her hand. Beatrice looked like she was going to jerk it away, but decided against the idea and let him wrap his fingers around hers.

“Is that really how you feel? Alone?” Wirt softly asked.

Beatrice placed her other hand over her eyes and answered, “Yes," but the word ended in a sob.

Wirt’s stomach dropped at the sound of her sadness. “I had no idea. I thought things were fine. You never told me you were lonely.”

“I don’t know. I think I was in denial.” Beatrice sniffed and lowered her hand to look at Wirt. “Then George got so old he died and I started thinking of how my life is at a standstill. Everyone is getting older and going on to other things. Andrew will be moving out soon and my other brothers and sisters won’t be far behind. While I’m just here, waiting for the boy from over the garden wall.”

Wirt wasn’t sure how to fix her problem. It was something that had always been in the background for them, but far enough away that he didn’t feel consumed with worry over it. Now it was here, right in front of him. What was going to happen to them the couple- when they eventually grew up? How could an adult relationship be sustained when they weren’t even from the same world, dimension, realm or whatever it was that separated them? “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out,” he tried to soothe her worries. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. His words were a hope. That was all he could do; hope that their situation would work itself out and that this wasn’t the beginning of the end for them.

When Beatrice didn’t respond, but only continued to look dejected, Wirt pulled on her hand until she fell into his lap and then softly, slowly he began to kiss her neck. She wasn’t responsive at first, but in time he could sense her despondency melting away under the feel of his mouth and when she brought her own lips to his, it was as if they turned a sharp corner. It wasn’t kissing tainted with the melancholy of a relationship possibly nearing its end, but rather a need; a strong need that connected them. She pulled her mouth from his moments later to say his name, and to him it sounded like a plea. Then Wirt felt her body beginning to shift backwards, but he didn’t respond with what would have been a typical reaction for him. He didn’t warn her that they couldn’t do this here, that her parents might catch them, or that their _first time_ shouldn’t be in the loft of a barn.

None of that mattered to him anymore as Beatrice forcibly yanked at his shirt to bring him down along with her. Wirt was answering her plea with a _yes_ and he surrendered. Settling in between her legs, he brought his mouth down to hers again as their kissing transitioned into touching that culminated with the bottom of her nightgown being pushed upward and his pants lowered. They were moving into an area of their relationship they hadn’t yet explored, but Wirt’s ever present worry wasn't anywhere to be found. And it was in the moment right before, when he looked into her eyes, his voice trembling as he asked, “A-are you okay?” while she looked back and replied with a simple, “Yeah,” that Wirt knew why. It was so very clear to him that his love for Beatrice was far greater than any other emotion and he would do _anything_ to keep her happy … even if it meant leaving his world to live in hers.


	9. In Limbo: Part 2

A myriad of emotions pulled at Beatrice all at once. She was stuck in a tug of war between happiness, anxiety, and sadness as each vied for dominance in her body. As a result, she didn’t know whether to smile or cry … or maybe just a bit of both.

Beatrice wanted to cry, because it hurt. That was something she had expected, but not because of anything her mother had mentioned. In all her nineteen years, Beatrice had never received _that_ talk from her. If you were a _lady_ you weren’t supposed to think of such things before your hand was asked for in marriage. It was Sara who had been her educational source on what the first time felt like from the female perspective, and Beatrice was glad to have a friend who was so unaffected by the subject of sex. Although, there seemed to be a large portion of Wirt’s society that felt like it wasn’t so taboo to put sex before marriage. Even Colleen had added her opinion on the subject, a memory that still haunted Beatrice. No one should put Jason Funderberker and sex in the same sentence. But Colleen had, and now Beatrice was moving in the same direction as her friends.

And this was what made her want to smile. She was finally taking that step with Wirt to cement their relationship in the kind of depth that could only come from knowing each other intimately ... but truthfully, the idea of making love also gave her anxiety. Beatrice wanted to be with him; she had wanted it for a long time, and yet the moment had never felt right. There was always the thought that if they went over the threshold, it would only serve to complicate things further for them. Nothing was certain when you lived in different worlds. Sure, there had been plenty of _almosts_ during the last two years, but they would both instinctively stop, their minds sharing the same thought this will only make things more difficult. But now they were choosing the path of complication, and Beatrice wondered what it would mean for her and Wirt in the long run?

“Are you okay?” he had asked beforehand, and she knew what Wirt actually meant was- _is this really what you want?_ Because it was how their _almosts_ always ended.

But this time was different. It didn’t take long for her to recognize that something had changed between them, like a candle being lit where there had only been darkness. Maybe it was the reminder of the fragility of life after George’s death. Maybe it had been her confession that she was worried what would happen to them after Wirt graduated. She wasn’t sure what had triggered the shift, only that it was there and it created a desire that pushed her past all hesitation. This time wouldn’t be an _almost_. “Yeah,” she replied, when with every instance before, her lips had expressed a variation of the phrase, “Maybe we should stop.”

Even though the darkness inside the barn shrouded them both, Beatrice was still able to see a hint of trepidation furrowing Wirt’s brow, and impulsively confessed, “I’m nervous too.” She wanted to show that despite her need to be in control of every situation, Beatrice wouldn’t try to fool him. Having knowledge of something, because of what she'd been told as opposed to experiencing it herself were two different things and she wouldn’t act like they weren’t. It was important to her that Wirt knew they were going into this as equals. His response to her admission was a half-smile that almost looked guilty, like he hated the fact she had noticed his nervousness. Then leaning down, he kissed her mouth again, and slowly, gently moved them through the motions of a closeness they had never felt before.

For Beatrice, the actual experience of sex was over before she could wrap her head around what had happened and when Wirt repeated, “Are you okay?” this time he genuinely meant the phrase. She hadn’t been very responsive due to the pain and she could hear the worry in his voice. “D-did I did I do something wrong? It gets better. I think. That’s what I’m told. Well, not really told. No one told me. I read it. Somewhere.”

Normally, her natural instinct was to play off his insecurities with a clever tease, but this time Beatrice couldn’t find it in her to joke, not when her own insecurities were manifesting themselves on her face in a frown. It looked like sadness had won against all the other emotions and when Wirt noticed her expression, he grimaced. “I knew it. You didn’t like it. I-I was terrible-”

They were sitting side by side now when Beatrice reached out to cease Wirt’s spiral into self-loathing. “No, it’s not that,” she said, her hand covering his mouth.

“Then what?” his muffled response came from behind her fingers.

Withdrawing her bottom lip behind her teeth, Beatrice bit down hard against the skin. “It’s only,” she began, releasing his mouth from her hand, “will there be a next time?”

“Do you want there to be a next time?” Wirt asked, looking as if he didn’t fully understand her question.

“Yes, of course, I want to try this again. I want to get to the point where you can last for more than a few seconds and it’s not painful for me,” Beatrice answered, her eyes steady on his. “I want to do this as much as any couple in love would.”

Wirt appeared upset. “I didn’t know I was hurting you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because that’s normal. The first few times are supposed to be about getting used to the newness and finding what works for us.” Beatrice sighed and shook her head. “But what isn’t normal is our courtship, and I’m wondering if we’re only setting ourselves up for an even greater fall when it eventually ends.” She didn’t truly believe that it would end, but wanted to push the subject with him again. Beatrice needed reassurance that everything wouldn’t fall apart after Wirt graduated, that his visits wouldn’t become fewer and far between. She didn’t want to become some pathetic woman waiting for a boyfriend who would never fully be hers because he belonged to a different world.

Wirt pulled her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “Beatrice…” he said her name like a sigh, but anticipating what he was going to say next, she cut him off.

“I know you’ve already told me that community college isn’t far from where you live and you’ll still be living with your parents, but I guess... It’s just…”

“Just what?” Wirt asked.

“What about me?” Beatrice said. “What am I supposed to do while I wait? My options are limited. I stay with my family in a state of quasi-adulthood, two years go by and you graduate. Then we’re back to this point again. What happens after? Do you go to a larger school farther away from me to finish your degree? Do I see you less and less until I don’t see you at all? Will all my waiting have been for nothing?” She hated how tears had welled in her eyes as she spoke, but her mind was taking her through the images of what she predicted. Wirt was eventually going to choose his world over her.

The pained look covering Wirt’s face deepened, and he hurried to pull Beatrice into an embrace. “I’m not going to leave you. You’re the most important person in my life and if I can help it nothing is going to keep us apart.”

“But the waiting is still so hard,” Beatrice spoke through her tears.

“What if you didn’t have to wait?” Wirt asked. “What if I came to live here with you for a little while?”

His suggestion caused Beatrice to freeze. As unlikely as it was, she wondered if her mind was conjuring up words for her to hear that would soothe her sadness. “What?” she said, shaking off her stupor and pulling herself from Wirt’s arms to stare at him pointedly.

“I’ll come and live here. It'll be like studying abroad, only I won’t have to take a long plane flight to get home. I can visit my family anytime I want and then you and I can move in together. I’ll work for your father in the meantime and you’ll study witchcraft or something.” He chuckled at his suggestion for her, but Beatrice was still in shock and could only give him a blank stare in response. “You don’t seem happy. I thought this would I thought it was a good solution.”

Wirt brought his thumb up to wipe away a remaining tear on her cheek. His touch was soft against her skin and it brought Beatrice back to her senses, where she was able to digest what he had offered. It wasn’t good enough because she could see a glaring flaw in his plan. “Wirt, you know my parents would never let us live together unless we were married.”

“Then we’ll get married,” he replied as if what he was suggesting wasn’t one of the bigger life decisions he would make.

“Be serious.”

“I _am_ serious,” he insisted.

“Then what … you said _a little while._ Are you going to leave your new wife after this little while is over?” Beatrice responded, causing Wirt to pause. There she had found it, the one concession he wasn’t willing to make.

“I don’t care,” Wirt finally asserted, a renewed focus in his voice. “If staying here with you for good is what needs to happen for us to work, then I’m willing to do that.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. The sex has gone to your brain.” She rolled her eyes at him, but he seemed unperturbed.

“Not so much the sex, but maybe my heart.”

Wirt had a look in his eyes like he was about to start spouting sonnets, and Beatrice decided to fight his proposal harder. She wanted to make sure Wirt meant what he was offering; that he understood what he was getting himself into. “What about all the things that happened before, with Greg?” she asked. “There is still evil out there like that, Wirt. The Beast wasn’t just this one big bad. There are others, more dark creatures that live in my world. I can’t promise that something similar won’t happen again.”

“And what about my world? Do you think it’s some utopia where nothing bad ever happens?” Wirt countered. “We might not have magic, but there’s lots of ways someone can die, and we both know it would be easier for me to come live here than for you to come and stay where I’m from. Without a background of paperwork proving who you are, you’d be helpless, and that’s not something I can fix for you.”

Beatrice ransacked her brain for another argument, and nearly sighed in satisfaction when she found something she knew would hit him hard. “But you can’t work for my father. You would absolutely hate working at the mill. That’s hard work and not what you’re made for. Besides, are you forgetting all about your dream of writing poetry as a profession?” Without his poetry, Wirt was incomplete.

Wirt gave a hard laugh that sounded derisive. “Honestly, I would have a better chance at that here than in my world. Do you really think there are that many successful poets? All my dreams about writing books filled with my words were exactly what you said dreams. It was never my plan to become a struggling artist. The best I could hope for was to teach about all the poets I’ll never live up to and maybe get a few followers online where I posted my poetry. But here, in your world, I might have a chance to become what I actually want to be. And working at the mill would just be something I did to support us until I found a way to work my writing into a career.”

“But Wirt …” Beatrice’s voice stalled when she couldn’t come up with another point to counter with, and Wirt took her silence as an opportunity to position himself directly in front of her, where he grasped both her hands in his. “I know the way I’ve come across has it sounding like I’m only doing this for practical reasons, and yeah, in a way it’s based in that, but I think this would have happened eventually. I don’t ever see a future where you’re not with me. I couldn’t handle it. So, this is me asking you in all sincerity …” He took a deep breath and then used a tone she knew well; one that could at times inflect an accent, (although she wasn’t sure from what language it originated from), the voice Wirt spoke in when he was reciting poetry. “Beatrice, will you marry me?”

“Ugh, this feels so clichéd,” Beatrice whined and Wirt laughed.

“Would you like to do the asking then?” he offered.

“Look at you. Proposing to the first girl you had sex with. You really are a pathetic pushover,” Beatrice teased, her need to prove Wirt wrong finally gone. Maybe they could make this work after all.

“Just answer the damn question,” Wirt grumbled, and she could tell he was trying not to show his irritation. He wanted to make this moment special.

“Is this enough of an answer for you,” she growled and attacked Wirt, so that her body pinned his against the hay. Then without delay, her mouth pressed down against his.

_So I’m going to get married. How trite._

* * *

 

After accepting that she and Wirt were more than likely going to get married, Beatrice didn’t have time to talk with him about future plans or even how they were going to tell their families. Celebrating her new status as engaged had to wait because, betrothal notwithstanding, she was still out of her bed in the middle of the night, visiting her boyfriend.

 _Or fiancé,_ her mind corrected and the weight of the word pressed against her heart, causing Beatrice to nearly stumble mid tip-toe on her way back through the house. She was engaged. She was going to marry Wirt. The thought made her dizzy.

Back in her room, Beatrice tried to shake off the fluttering in her chest, a sensation that reminded her of the tiny bird wings she once had. It was as that bird that she had first met the boy from over the garden wall; the one she had been insufferably rude to at first, but also the one who made her realize there was a better way to be. How could Beatrice have possibly known from their first tense encounter, that the boy who was little more than a bartering tool for her, would go on to trigger a love so deep that she would agree to marry him?

_Marriage_

Before Wirt, her reaction to that word was like a bitter lemon on her tongue. The way Beatrice saw things, marriage might work for some, but for her, it would be an institution of misery. She anticipated being forced to suppress her true self to satisfy a man who more than likely wouldn’t love her. But that wasn’t who Wirt was at all. He appreciated who she was, even down to her flaws. Sometimes, he did become annoyed when she pushed too hard with a tease or lost her temper, but even then he found her ability to give as good as she got, admirable. They were opposites. That much even a stranger could see. But Beatrice knew there was strength in those differences between them. There was comfort in the way they overlapped each other’s weaknesses, providing for the other what they lacked.

Unable to subdue her giddiness, Beatrice quickly changed out of her dirty chemise and into one that didn’t hold evidence of her figurative and literal _roll in the hay_. She assumed her night would be sleepless. There were just too many contemplations contending for attention, and Beatrice decided to indulge one in particular. She was feeling very sentimental for those first few months of her and Wirt’s friendship, wanting to remember what it had been like at the beginning, before she knew that the spark of an ember insider her chest was actually love

Unlocking the desk drawer where all Wirt’s correspondences with her were kept, Beatrice searched out an older letter that still had a spot in the front due to her revisiting it so often. It was the very first letter, the one he had never really intended for her to read. The word love had even been crossed out above the name he had signed, but as her eyes took in the hasty handwriting she had stared at countless times before, Beatrice smiled. Who knew this one note would begin a journey that would lead her to willingly accepting her fate as a common wife.

But she knew the word common didn’t fit. When she was with Wirt, Beatrice was far from common. He made her better and together they were complete.


End file.
